


My Yesterdays in Front of Me

by BreTheWriter



Series: Had He Known It [3]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Gen, HHKI 'verse, Mentions of Enterprise Crew, Not Star Trek: Beyond Compliant, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Starfleet Academy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-03-01 09:05:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 37,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13291590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BreTheWriter/pseuds/BreTheWriter
Summary: Sequel to Had He Known It.Thomas James "Slim" Kirk has experienced a lot of frightening situations in his life, from xenobiotic plagues to near-catastrophic space battles to abusive foster families to first love. Now he faces the most potentially frightening situation of all: his first day at Starfleet Academy.Cadet Kirk wants nothing more than to graduate, to go back into space, and to see his beloved family and friends again. To get there, he will have to navigate snotty fellow cadets, vindictive teachers, strenuous exams, and the kind of situations no amount of space travel can prepare him for. More than that, he will have to face down the question: What determines who he truly is, his ability--or his name?





	1. Looking Out Into the Great Unknown

**Author's Note:**

> At long last, here it is--the sequel to Had He Known It!
> 
> I hope you're going to like how this story goes, to be honest. I've been enjoying writing it so far. Just like with HHKI, this will be a combination of serious and lighthearted chapters--and just like that story, I don't exactly know yet how many chapters it's going to end up being. We _will_ see the Enterprise crew, I promise you that, but obviously they're in space for a good portion of the story, so we won't see very much of them. Obviously, most of the characters in this story are going to be OCs, but I hope you won't hold that against me. We'll meet a few characters that you're going to adore and a few more that you're going to absolutely loathe, and I hope that even knowing how it will--eventually--end won't deter the excitement.
> 
> So...without further ado...I invite you to sit back, relax, and enjoy the show.

_Cadet’s log, Stardate 2274.212. I begin my accounting here, as I may not have time to record later. At any rate, this is more or less the start of my journey. In three point five standard hours, I will board the shuttlecraft_ Astrid _bound for Earth, San Francisco, and Starfleet Academy. I know little of what to expect, except that, at the very least, I will not be going alone; I have a few friends who will be starting with me. Still, San Francisco is largely a world unknown, and the Academy even more so._

_And it is a very long way from home._

_~*~*~*~_

“Name?” the man asked, smiling broadly at the two young people in front of him.

“Kirk, Thomas James.” The fair-haired young man stood at attention but reminded himself firmly not to salute.

The man studied his clipboard, then nodded and made a tick mark. “Welcome aboard, Cadet Kirk. And your name, Miss?”

“It is T’Mel.”

“Welcome aboard, Cadet T’Mel. I’m Lieutenant Simony.” Simony lowered his clipboard and gestured. A man in a red jumpsuit unlatched a panel, which swung up to reveal a storage compartment, filled with several bags, boxes, and other assorted bits of luggage. “If you’ll stow your gear and step aboard, we can get underway.”

Slim swung his seabag off his shoulder and tucked it carefully between three pieces of matched luggage and what appeared to be a steamer trunk. T’Mel slid her own duffel into another available bit of space and then stepped back to allow the crewman to slam it shut. At Simony’s nod, they turned and headed for the open door of the shuttle.

Slim was trying not to be nervous, but he couldn’t help it. He was, after all, only human, and he was leaving behind the only family he’d ever known. It ought to have been easier, considering what his life had been like before CPS had located his father and Starfleet had agreed to allow them to go into space as a family, but it wasn’t. He’d had four and a half years of family, of camaraderie, of _belonging,_ and walking away from that was harder than he’d expected.

“TJ! T’Mel! Over here!”

At the sound of the call, Slim’s nerves mostly melted away. He turned to see a short, round-faced figure waving frantically to him from towards the back of the shuttle. Smiling, Slim waved in reply and made his way to the seats.

Sparky Watson grinned toothily up from the innermost seat. “Oops, sorry, did you want the window? I can move if you want. I’ve just never been in space before and I got super excited and—”

“You’re fine, Sparky,” Slim assured his friend. “T’Mel, you want aisle or middle?”

“As I am the smaller, it makes the most sense for me to take the middle.” T’Mel slipped past Slim to take the seat. “It is gratifying to see you all again.”

“Should’ve known you’d all be on before us.” Slim buckled himself in and grinned across the aisle. “Brae, M’err, how’s it going?”

Only two of the three seats were occupied, but anyone attempting to sit between them would have had a job of it, no matter how slender Braeden Rocheford was. M’err was leaning into the middle seat, presumably to keep from blocking the aisle to the very back, where Slim assumed the bathrooms were. His grin was even toothier than Sparky Watson’s, but no more than was typical for his species. “I still can’t believe we’re really here.”

Braeden leaned forward, but before he could speak, the intercom clicked to life. “Good afternoon, cadets, and welcome aboard the shuttlecraft _Astrid_ to our new arrivals. This is our last stop before we return to Earth, and we will be there in approximately twenty-four standard hours. Restrooms are located to the rear of the shuttlecraft. You will be provided with lunch at 1300 standard hours; dinner will be at 1800 standard hours, and breakfast will be served at 0800 hours. We do ask that you not move about more than absolutely necessary, and please remain in your restraints while seated. Shielding on this shuttle is rudimentary, and we’d hate to deliver you to Starfleet Academy in less than mint condition.”

There were a few nervous chuckles from throughout the cabin, but most people didn’t react. Slim got the distinct impression that the pilot had made that same joke more than once. He also wasn’t exactly sure it was a joke. The pilot continued. “Beginning standard departure checklist. Please stand by. Vinyaya out.”

“Anybody know what the standard departure checklist _is?_ ” Braeden asked. “She’s made that same comment every time we’ve stopped to get someone on, and I feel like we should know what it is, but…”

“Power, fuel, core temperature, environmental controls,” Slim recited, recalling Kelly muttering her way through the preliminaries, “prime thrusters, prime starters, disengage external inertial dampeners, confirm initial flight plan, confirm permission for departure.”

T’Mel lifted an eyebrow. “Do you intend to be a pilot as well as an engineer?”

Slim shrugged, a little self-consciously. “I reckon I oughta know how to do it, at least, just in case. But it ain’t my primary goal.”

“Then if I may inquire, Thomas, why are you so familiar with the procedures?”

“He just explained that, T’Mel,” Braeden pointed out.

“I just remember Kelly—Ensign O’Flaherty—goin’ through the checklist when we had to fly down to rescue the crashed shuttle,” Slim explained. “I was focusin’ on her to keep from bein’ nervous.”

“I don’t think you told us that story,” M’err said with a frown. “Did you? That doesn’t sound like a familiar story.”

Slim started to explain, but before he opened his mouth all the way, Vinyaya’s voice came back over the intercom. “We are cleared for departure. Please remain seated in an upright position facing forward while we exit the shuttleport.”

Sparky gripped the armrests, practically vibrating with excitement. The shuttle shuddered, then rumbled, then jerked forward. Braeden swallowed. “Is it supposed to do that?”

“It’s an older shuttle,” Slim said, a little uncertain but not letting it show. “Probably just having trouble compensating for the extra weight. Give it a sec and everything ought to be fine.”

Braeden swallowed again, and Slim noticed him slip his hand into M’err’s, but he kept looking straight forward, forcing himself to stay calm. M’err squeezed his hand back, his eyes also fixed on the seat in front of him. T’Mel’s expression had never changed from its usual placid, inscrutable mask, and Sparky still actually looked excited. Slim kept looking forward, too, but as the shuttle kept jumping and shuddering, he found his fingers twitching.

At last, he twisted around and caught Simony’s attention. “Sir, if I may? I have a little practical engineering experience. Can I help in any way?”

Simony smiled slightly in reply. “Thank you, Cadet, but no, shuttle’s just got the pre-flight jitters. We’ll be underway in a moment.”

Slim turned back to the front. Sure enough, scant seconds later the engines settled into a steady thrum and the shuttle pulled forward smoothly. A moment later, they passed through the shuttle bay doors and dropped into the flat blackness of space.

There were sighs of relief, some near-sobs, from throughout the cabin. Slim relaxed his shoulders and let one hand drift lower until it touched one of the mechanical components of the ship. Closing his eyes, he sent a silent question out to the ship: _What was that all about?_

The answer was one that surprised him.

He bit back a smile and brought his hand back up to his lap, then turned to M’err and Braeden. “You still want me to tell you ‘bout the crash?”

M’err gave Slim a sideways grin. “Yeah. Tell us all about it.”

Sparky leaned around T’Mel to listen as Slim told the story. He watched Braeden slowly relax as he spoke and realized that, while he’d done a good job of hiding it, he’d truly been scared by the shuttle’s “pre-flight jitters.” He gave his friend a wink before continuing to relate the adventure.

“An ambitious solution,” T’Mel conceded when Slim had finished. “Certainly the most direct, but I am certain that a less…physical solution could have been found.”

“Sure,” Slim agreed. “Once we got back to the _Enterprise,_ once I had time to think about it, I wrote out three or four different scenarios we could’ve done, if we’d had the time an’ the equipment. Trouble is, we didn’t. We had three people trapped, no way to communicate with them, no idea what kind of condition they were in. An’ from the way the site looked, we knew there was at least one person hurt in there—we just didn’t know how bad. We didn’t have time for fancy plans or elaborate scenarios. Like you said, it was the most direct solution, an’ direct was what we needed.”

“I don’t know that I would have thought of it,” M’err said thoughtfully.

Slim shrugged. “You ain’t an engineer. You’d’a thought of a way that worked for you.”

“Which would have taken longer.” M’err laughed. “I suppose that’s why your father sent a shuttle full of engineers.”

“I don’t think a shuttle full of anthropologists would have been much help,” Sparky said with a cheeky grin.

“More than one anthropologist on a single mission, unless there are multiple disciplines to be discussed, would be illogical,” T’Mel said, a little stiffly.

“No offense meant, T’Mel. It was just an example. You use the right tools for the job, you know? And a shuttle upside down in a great big hole is an engineering problem. A society that isn’t moving according to expected lines of development, that’s an anthropology problem. A plague sweeping through a colony, that’s a medical problem.”

T’Mel inclined her head slightly. “No offense was taken, Quirinius. And you are correct. One would not expect someone untrained for a task to complete it.”

“When the only tool you have is a hammer, every problem looks like a nail,” Braeden interjected.

Two crew members started up the aisle just then with a cart piled high with square boxes. Slim watched them make their way to the front of the shuttle and saw one or two people try to get their attention, but it wasn’t until they reached the first row that they began passing out what Slim guessed was lunch. It was clear to Slim that several people were definitely displeased that they hadn’t been fed first.

Sparky leaned forward. “They’ve been doing this every time—they take the cart to the front and work their way back—so I don’t know why people are still surprised or expecting it to be different this time. It makes a lot more sense to do it this way, anyway, ‘cause that way they don’t have to push an empty cart all the way back and deal with the people who’ve scarfed their meals down already trying to shove dirty dishes and trash at them.”

“There are always people who expect that _this time,_ they’ll get preferential treatment,” Braeden murmured. “The hell of it is, they’re usually right after a while.”

Slim recognized in Braeden’s voice someone who was used to being sat on and kicked around. He leaned forward to shoot his friend a wink. “Not in Starfleet, they’re not.”


	2. Unfolding Like a Mystery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, I'm glad people are enjoying this so far! It's going to be a little bit of a slow start, but in the next couple of chapters things will start rocking and rolling, I promise.
> 
> Oh, and I forgot to mention this last chapter, but the title of the fic--as well as the title of this chapter--come from the Garth Brooks song "When You Come Back to Me Again." The first chapter's title is a line from "One Way Ticket (Because I Can)" by Leann Rimes.

_Cadet’s log, Stardate 2274.213. We arrived at the shuttleport at precisely 1133 hours. For the first time, I wish that I had taken my father up on his offer to give me a tour of Starfleet Academy while we were waiting for the_ Enterprise _to leave. It is not that I feel at a disadvantage not knowing my way around, as very few of the cadets from outlying planets do either, but it is imposing nonetheless. The only thing I can say is that I am glad beyond belief not to have to go through this experience alone._

_~*~*~*~_

“Entering standard orbit. Beginning final descent.”

Slim craned his head to look out the window as the _Astrid_ headed into the Earth’s atmosphere. A typical Class M planet, he thought, signs of having moved on past reliance on coal or nuclear energy and into a cleaner, more renewable source, a fairly balanced mix of habitation and natural world—

He caught himself abruptly as he realized where his mind was going. This wasn’t just any Class M planet. This was his _home._ Or at the very least, where he’d come from. He shouldn’t be analyzing it like it was a planet he’d never seen before.

The low buzz of chatter that had permeated the shuttle since the attendants had gone round with breakfast died away, and seventy-seven cadets sat in stoic silence as the shuttle descended. Slim guessed that, now that they were so close, everyone was overcome with either nerves or awe or both. Even Sparky had gone unnaturally still and quiet.

They punched through a couple layers of clouds, then slowly dropped low enough that they could see what was below them—nothing but sparkling blue water as far as the eye could see. Slim honestly couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen an ocean. As they got closer down, however, descending at an angle, a shoreline appeared, then the buildings clustered along the roads. They had arrived _somewhere,_ at least, even if it wasn’t San Francisco.

Vinyaya’s voice came over the loudspeaker. “We have received clearance to land. Beginning final docking procedures. Please remain in your seats with the restraints fastened until you are given instructions to do otherwise.”

To Slim’s surprise, butterflies fluttered through his stomach. He slipped a hand into his pocket and fingered the good-luck token Porter had given him before he’d taken his exam.

_Everything will be all right,_ he told himself. _It’s going to be fine._

The shuttle slowly lowered the last few meters, and there was a dull _clunk_ and a heavy thump as it finally touched down and locked into place. Slim could see clouds of steam rising past the windows, and something—either inside or outside—gave a few faint clicks.

They had arrived.

Simony strode up the aisle to the front of the shuttle, where he stood silently regarding them for a moment before he spoke. “Cadets, allow me to be the first to welcome you to Earth, and to San Francisco, and to Starfleet Academy. In a few minutes I will give the order, and you will proceed in an orderly fashion off of the shuttle and assemble on the platform. Collect your gear from the cargo holds and line up in rows of seven to await further instructions.” He studied the shuttle for a long minute. “Right. Release restraints and disembark.”

Slim popped the release on his restraints and stood, rolling his shoulders to work out the kinks. His friends, too, got to their feet and stretched. Only M’err stayed seated, which made sense. He was already a head taller than Slim was, and if he stood, he’d have to hunch over until there was room for them to get up and move, which wouldn’t have helped much.

Despite Simony’s orders, the cadets didn’t exactly proceed in an orderly fashion; there was a good deal of shoving and jockeying for position. Slim leaned on the back of the seat in front of him and watched. When the row in front of them started edging out, he turned to M’err. “You wanna go first?”

“Thank you.” M’err rose to his feet and shuffled awkwardly into the aisle, then straightened. The top of his head brushed the ceiling of the shuttle as he waited for the people ahead of him to move before he stepped out. Slim nodded to Braeden, who followed M’err; Slim, T’Mel, and Sparky trailed behind them.

The platform was somewhat chaotic as cadets shoved one another to get at their bags, some of which were piled on the ground and others of which were still in the cargo hold. T’Mel frowned. “It is illogical to hurry to get one’s bags before anyone else, as that simply means one will have to stand with one’s bags longer than everyone else,” she observed.

“They want their bags first because that means they’re the most important,” Sparky said with a shrug. “People have to be the first in and the first out and the first to get something because they have it in their heads that that’s what shows their place in society—that the first person to arrive or be served is the leader and the most important and the one who’ll get the best of everything. I saw it all the time in the mines, at least with the newer miners, ‘cause the older miners were all the ones who’d figured out that the first guy to charge into the mines was also the furthest guy away from the entrance if there was a cave-in or a methane leak or a monster coming at you.”

“I’d laugh, but I’m pretty sure you’re serious,” Braeden said under his breath.

T’Mel spotted her duffel bag on the platform and went to retrieve it. M’err followed her and picked up a strange, tube-shaped piece of luggage that looked like it was made of leather, a frown on his face as he checked the clasps. One or two cadets skirted away from his expression as they jogged over to join the messy, uneven lines. The crowd by the cargo doors had thinned out enough that Slim, Sparky, and Braeden could move towards the hold.

A crewman in a red jumpsuit crawled backwards out of the hold, dragging a pair of suitcases; the cadet standing next to them snatched both without a word, cracking the crewman in the knee, and staggered towards the lines. The crewman winced and sat on the edge of the hold, rubbing his knee. Slim winced in sympathy.

Sparky nudged Slim. “You guys go ahead. I’ll go last. Don’t want to hit him again.”

“You sure?” Slim asked.

“Yeah, seriously, go ahead.”

Slim nodded and approached the cargo hold. The crewman quickly got to his feet. Slim gave him a warm smile. “Hi,” he said, as cheerfully as he could manage, then glanced into the cargo hold. His seabag had been shoved to one side, but it was still fairly close to the edge of the door. He snagged the strap and swung it onto his back, careful not to hit anybody. Braeden, who was right behind him, bent over and grabbed a surprisingly small, hard-bodied suitcase right next to it.

“I take it that means that the one left in there is yours, sir,” the crewman said to Sparky.

“Yeah, but don’t worry about it,” Sparky said cheerfully. “I’ll get it myself. I know it’s kinda awkward.”

Before the crewman could say anything, Sparky had crawled into the cargo hold. He scooted out a moment later, dragging—to Slim’s surprise—the steamer trunk. He paused on the edge and looked up at the crewman, who was standing fairly close. “’Scuse me, sir, I don’t want to hit you with this.”

The crewman took a step back, and Sparky managed to haul the trunk out without hitting anyone or anything. He didn’t look as if it was particularly heavy, merely gave the crewman a nod and a grin before hauling it over to join the lines as easily as everyone else did. Slim and Braeden looked at one another, then laughed. They both thanked the crewman and followed Sparky.

Simony was deep in conversation with another official, both of them frowning. After a moment, Simony stepped back and the other official stepped forward.

“Right!” he bellowed, silencing what little chatter had sprung up. “Cadets! Atenn… _shun!_ ”

About a third of the cadets immediately snapped to attention. The rest simply shifted their bags to more comfortable positions and waited. The officer’s mouth flattened to a thin line as he looked around.

“When I call your name, I want you to take your luggage and stand in a _straight_ line with your backs to the shuttle,” he snapped. “Is that understood?” He looked around. “I _said, is that understood?_ ”

“Aye, sir,” Slim and several other people said.

Not enough, evidently. The officer narrowed his eyes still further, then looked at the clipboard in his hands. “Cadet Quirinius Watson.”

Sparky backed hastily out of the line and scurried over to stand in front of the shuttle. The way he moved, Slim guessed there wasn’t anything actually in the trunk, or at least very little; he hauled it around as easily as Addie’s tribble. The official made a tick mark on the clipboard. “Cadet T’Mel.”

With no change in expression, T’Mel strode across the platform to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Sparky. The official made another tick mark. “Cadet Thomas Kirk.”

There were a few murmurs from the cadets, a few heads turned in his direction as Slim crossed the platform, causing the official to bark, “ _Did I tell you to break formation?_ ”

Everyone’s heads snapped back to the front as the official continued, “Cadet Braeden Rocheford.”

Slim forced himself to keep his expression neutral as Braeden came over to join them, but inwardly, he relaxed. He guessed the official was simply calling roll and attempting to get everyone lined up properly—just in reverse order of how they’d left the shuttle. He thought his theory might have been confirmed when M’err was called next.

But all told, the official only called around a dozen names before lowering his clipboard and turning to face the cadets he’d singled out. He studied them for a long moment, during which Slim’s nerves returned full force, then snapped out, “Right. You lot will accompany Lieutenant Simony. The rest of you lucky lads get to deal with _me._ Tennnnn… _hut!”_

Slim noticed at least a couple cadets shoot malicious smirks their way, but before he could think too hard about it, Simony was in front of them with a straight face. “Follow me, cadets.”

They followed in a straight line. Slim was taller than both Sparky and T’Mel, so he kept his gaze fixed on the back of Simony’s head as he walked. He also kept his hands wrapped tightly around the straps of his seabag, ostensibly to take some of the pressure off his back but really so they wouldn’t start shaking. He had no idea why they’d been singled out or what they’d done wrong, but whatever it was, he was fairly certain he had somehow started off on completely the wrong foot.

Simony led them without speaking into an enormous grey building. The floor inside was of polished dark stone. There were several tables, each with a label in front of them and a single person behind them. Most had short lines of people in civilian clothing, clutching their luggage, standing in front of them.

“Right,” Simony said, bringing the line to a halt. “The three tables on the left are divided by alphabetical order of surname in Standard. Next two are also divided by alphabetical order of surname, but in Vulcan. Last table is for those of you from cultures without traditional surnames. You’ll be given instructions when you reach the front of the lines.” He studied them for a moment, then grinned. “Good luck, cadets, and welcome again.”

The line separated. M’err patted Braeden’s shoulder briefly. “Meet you all over by that column to compare instructions once we have them,” he said, pointing to a square stone pillar next to what Slim could now see was a veritable mountain of luggage. “I don’t think they will be too different, but…”

“Meet you there,” Slim said with a nod.

The five of them scattered. The way the names had been divided, Slim and Braeden wound up in the same line, Sparky in the one next to them, with T’Mel and M’err separated from them by one line. Braeden was breathing deeply, looking around him and unconsciously flexing his fingers.

“It’ll be okay, Brae,” Slim murmured.

Braeden gave Slim a half-smile. “I’ve never been so far from home before.”

“Me, neither,” Slim admitted. “Not since I had a home.”

“I shouldn’t be complaining, really. At least I’ve got M’err…well, and the rest of you, but I’ve known him since we moved to Kappa D.” Braeden’s gaze traveled over to the column, where M’err—whose line had been the shortest—was already waiting. “Your friends are still all back at the _Enterprise._ ”

“Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t complain.”

They had reached the head of the line. Slim gestured for Braeden to go first, and his friend stepped up and smiled nervously at the person behind the table. She smiled back, a dazzlingly white grin. “Name?”

“Braeden Rocheford.”

The woman turned a few pages on her PADD, then made a tick mark. “Luggage?”

“One suitcase.”

The woman picked up a datatag and stuck it in the end of the PADD. It flashed for a minute, then let out a beep. She pulled it out and handed it to Braeden. “Attach that to your suitcase,” she instructed. As soon as he had done so, she handed him a smaller PADD out of a box. “Welcome to Starfleet Academy. Put your luggage in that room over there and head into Forum B.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Braeden stepped aside and headed for the column, where now not only M’err but T’Mel stood.

The woman smiled at Slim as he stepped up. “Name?”

“Thomas Kirk, ma’am,” Slim said, tugging on his bangs politely.

Again, the woman flipped through a few pages on her PADD before making a tick mark. “Luggage?”

“One seabag.”

“Don’t see many of those.” The woman picked up another datatag, then gave Slim the same instructions. As he snapped it into place around the top of one of the straps, he saw that it had his name, major, and a string of numbers. The rest of the tag was blank.

The woman handed Slim another small PADD. Slim could see that it had KIRK and the same string of numbers on the back. “Welcome to Starfleet Academy. Put your luggage in the room to the right and head into Forum B.”

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you.” Slim smiled again and headed over to his friends.

M’err nodded as he arrived. “We’re just waiting on Sparky now.” He scanned the lines. “That’s funny—I haven’t seen the other cadets from our shuttle yet, have you?”

“No, but I ain’t exactly been lookin’.” Slim turned to look, too. “Wonder where they’re at?”

“Idle speculation is illogical.” T’Mel spoke flatly, but Slim noticed that she, too, was studying the lines.

Sparky joined them a few minutes later, almost tripping over his feet in his haste to get to them and fumbling his PADD. Braeden caught it for him. “All set?”

“Yeah, sorry it took so long, but I swear to God everybody in the universe has a last name that starts with S or T and they were all in line ahead of me.”

“If everybody in the universe—” T’Mel began.

Sparky laughed. “I can see we’re going to have to teach you about figurative language. You’re way too literal. Okay, what have we got?”

Slim looked down at the PADD for the first time. “I ain’t looked at this yet. All I know is what she told me—put my luggage in there and report to Forum B.”

“Yeah, same here,” Braeden said.

“That’s probably where orientation is or whatever, ‘cause he told me the same thing,” Sparky said, waving a hand at the tables.

M’err frowned. “That’s strange. I was told to head to Forum A.”

“The orientations are divided by division,” T’Mel said calmly. “Science Division is in Forum C. I presume that Forum A is for those on the Command track and Forum B is for Engineering.”

“Well, that explains it,” Braeden muttered, looking down at his PADD.

M’err patted his back gently. “It will be all right. Look, let’s put our luggage up and head into our orientations. We can all meet up afterward.”

“Sounds like a plan to me. Wonder what time they’re feeding us around here? I’m starving.” Sparky hefted his trunk and trotted over towards Mount Luggage. T’Mel and Braeden followed him. As Slim turned to join them, M’err caught his arm.

“Keep an eye on him for me, will you?” he murmured, bending over to rumble directly in Slim’s ear. “He will never admit it in a million years, but he is truly scared.”

“Don’t worry,” Slim murmured back with a pat to M’err’s hand. “I’ll keep ‘im safe for you.”

M’err smiled, straightened up, and headed off to put his luggage with everyone else’s.

 


	3. All the Way Down the Line

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from "Angels Working Overtime" by Deanna Carter. The song as a whole has virtually nothing to do with this chapter, but that line fit.

_Cadet’s log, Stardate 2274.213, supplemental. I am extremely thankful that I have friends with me at the Academy, and more specifically in my orientation section. Having spent the last few years in an essentially self-contained world, to find a thousand people crammed into a single room—and to learn that there are thirty times that in the student body—is a bit of a shock. Braeden isn’t the only one having trouble with all of this._

_~*~*~*~_

“…And with that, I say again: Welcome to Starfleet Academy.”

The man took his seat to polite applause from the assembled cadets in the room. It was, so far as Slim could tell, a standard orientation lecture: extolling the virtues of Starfleet, explaining the history of the Academy, and laying out the basic expectations of a cadet. He estimated that maybe thirty percent of the room had actually listened to the whole thing. Unfortunately, he was one of them.

As soon as the applause stopped, the emcee—a man who had introduced himself as Lieutenant Commander Wyatt Erikson—stepped back up to the microphone. “Thank you, Commander. Cadets, we are now moving on to the practical portion of the orientation. At this time, please take out the PADDs you were issued at registration.”

There was a general rustle from the room as cadets took out the devices. Slim had kept his in hand at all times and merely studied it. It was smaller than the ones he was accustomed to, about the size of a deck of cards—small enough that it could be held in the hand or tucked in a pocket. Erikson continued. “These PADDs will be your lifeline while you are at Starfleet Academy, so take care not to lose or break them. This will serve as your official Academy ID, as well as your room key—the Academy has moved away from door codes and into this system—and your first official-issue communicator. It is also connected automatically to the Starfleet Academy network to enable you to access articles from the library, track and maintain your schedule, and receive bulletins and notifications. At this time, please press the clear button on the top and hold it for three seconds to turn the PADD on.”

Slim complied. The screen glowed white, then shifted to a blue with the Starfleet Academy logo on it. After a moment of warming up, the screen changed again. Now it was dark green, with a glowing oblong outlined in the center and no other information. Slim raised his head to look at Erikson, awaiting instructions. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Braeden and Sparky do the same.

Erikson was watching the room with a small half-smile. After a few moments, he said, “You should now all be seeing the same screen. Press the pointer finger of your _dominant_ hand into the center of the oblong shape and hold there until the PADD tells you otherwise.”

Slim heard a few muffled curses from around the room as he pressed his left forefinger to the screen. It warmed beneath his touch and changed through a pleasing kaleidescope of colors. At last, the screen turned back to the same dark green, and the words PLEASE REMOVE FINGER appeared. Slim complied, and the screen shifted after a moment to a red field with the same symbol as the badge Scotty and Uhura wore on their uniforms.

He felt a sharp pang of homesickness.

“Your PADD is now locked to you, and you alone,” Erikson continued. “You are the only one who can turn it on or access any of the data. And it is now keyed to your data, and will update itself constantly. If you do not see a red screen with this symbol on it”—the screen above his head flashed to match Slim’s PADD—“please stand up and walk quietly through the door to my right.”

Slim watched as—he estimated—around a hundred people got up and filed out of the room. He recognized several of the people who had been on the shuttle with him. Several were grumbling or muttering to themselves, or to their neighbors. Most, though, looked sheepish and kept their mouths shut. One of them even elbowed the guy next to him who was muttering and made a _quit_ motion across his throat.

And then Slim got it. The cadets who’d been singled out at the shuttleport and marched off with Simony had been the ones who followed instructions—waited for the word to unbuckle, filed off in an orderly fashion, done their best to stand to attention. The rest had been held back. Some of them had learned their lessons. Others hadn’t, and had probably touched the screen with the wrong finger—a thumb, or a middle finger, or the wrong hand. Most had learned _that_ lesson, too.

More tests. Like the covert psych exams they’d been given when they took the entrance tests. Slim wondered how many of the mutterers and grumblers would even make it to the first day of class.

When the door closed behind the last person, Erikson spoke again. “Right. The rest of you, please tap the center of your screen with the same finger you registered your PADD with.” He waited for a moment to make sure they all complied, then added with a faint smile, “Any finger will work, of course, but that one is the surest way of doing it. Now. You should see several icons. Please pull out the stylus from the top—press the small black button—and touch the scheduling icon.” The screen flashed behind him, showing a small yellow square with straight lines on it.

Slim pressed the tiny black button and was surprised—and delighted—when it turned out to be a stylus. He tapped the tip to the icon indicated and was suddenly faced with a menu.

“This is your scheduling assistant,” Erikson explained. “It is currently open for editing. After this, it will require your advisor’s authorization to make any changes.” He studied the room. “When you took your entrance exams, you selected a field of study. That field of study has a standard progression of courses, and you will take the classes you need in a specified order. However, most—not all—of the classes have multiple sessions, and which class you will be scheduled for will depend on your other classes.

“Now, in addition to your major—or majors, for those of you who are in multiple disciplines—you may take up to _two_ minors. If you open the Minors menu, you will see a list of all those that are available. Please look through them and select up to two that you wish to take. Note that you are not required to select a minor. If you do not want to minor in anything, please select None. Look up and place your finger on your nose when you are finished.”

There were a few nervous giggles from throughout the room. Slim’s lips twitched upwards in a smile as he opened the menu and beheld the list of options. This being Starfleet Academy and not, for example, OU, all of the minors were practical, subjects that having a little bit of knowledge about could potentially help your ship, your captain, or even just you out of a tricky spot, but which weren’t enough to support a full-time officer specializing in. Of course, you could also minor in anything you could major in except command.

As Slim pondered, Erikson added with a twitch of his lips, “You are allowed to converse with your friends on selecting minors, if you wish, as long as you keep the noise to a reasonable level.”

Braeden exhaled in relief and looked over at Slim and Sparky. “What are you two thinking?”

“I’m thinking I have no business picking a minor if I’m not damn sure I can handle the major,” Sparky muttered, but he was still scanning the list of minors and suddenly brightened. “Ooh, Computer Programming. That could be useful.”

Slim thought of M5 with a shudder. “You’ve got no idea.”

Braeden shook his head regretfully. “I already know I’m no good at that. Besides, if—if we’re going to try for the same posting, we’d want to all have different skills, right? I was thinking Xenolinguistics.”

“So was I,” Slim admitted.

“There are two different subtypes,” Sparky said, tapping the list with the top of his stylus, which did nothing. “I’m not sure what they are, though.”

“One’s about learning to deconstruct languages and figure out patterns, I think,” Braeden said. “The other one is about learning the basics of as many as you can. I like puzzles, though, so I’d go for the pure linguistic subtype.”

“That solves that problem, then,” Slim said with a slight laugh. “I know at least a few words in a few different languages, so I’d pick the polyglot option.”

Braeden grinned and tapped at his PADD. “I’m not sure if I should double up or not.”

Slim was about to agree when he spotted another and touched it as well. “Well, since I already said I was going to, guess I’ll minor in Piloting, too.”

Sparky laughed, then clapped a hand over his mouth and shot a guilty look up at the platform. Erikson winked, though, and Slim thought the man must have incredibly good eyes and ears to be able to spot Sparky from thirty rows back. “I’m good with the one, I think.” He put his finger to his nose.

Slim did the same. Braeden made one additional mark on his PADD and also touched his nose. They all seemed to know, instinctively, that Erikson expected them to be silent once they were finished choosing their minors. Gradually, silence fell over the room.

Erikson scanned the room, smiled again, and touched his own finger to his nose. “Right, you can lower your hands now.” There was a loud _rustle_ as everyone in the room complied. “You should now be back at the main menu on the scheduling app. It has automatically filled in the list of classes you will be taking for your major—or majors—and minor—or minors. However, this is not the _final_ schedule. At this time, you may now select any electives you wish to take. Please tap on the option labeled Electives. It will show any elective classes that meet at times you can fit them into your required courses. You may take up to _three_ electives per semester. You may take the same electives each semester if you choose, or switch them around, or take none at all.” The screen behind him changed to show a timer that read 1:00:00:00. “You have one hour to talk and select your electives, as well as stretch if you so desire.”

Slim tapped over to the Electives menu and studied it.The courses were sorted into three categories—Basic, Advanced, and General. He frowned. “What’s the difference between Basic and General?”

Sparky cocked his head at the lists. “I think…I think, if I’m reading this right, that Basic is like—like stuff that’s not part of your major or minor, but that you might have learned in the first year of a major or minor. Like if you don’t want to minor in Xenolinguistics, but you’d like to learn how to speak Klingon, I guess. General is stuff that can’t support a major or minor, stuff that are truly electives—stuff that it’d take a pretty weird set of circumstances to be useful.”

“Like Ballroom Dance,” Braeden added.

“Oh, where’s that?” Slim scanned the General column and found it. He immediately tapped it with his stylus and was presented with a choice between ALL SEMESTERS or CHOOSE SEMESTERS. He tapped the first one. “Okay, that’s one elective out of the way.”

Braeden laughed. “I’ll give it a try, but I don’t think I’ll like it very much.”

The three of them leaned their heads together and murmured over the selections and teased each other about their choices. The Advanced courses seemed to be optional extensions to the basic courses that all cadets had to take, and Slim was delighted to find that there was an option for Advanced Combat: Fencing that would kick in at the start of his third year, once he had finished the basic hand-to-hand and phaser courses. He also added a couple of one-semester electives, things he didn’t think he’d be able to handle more than one session of but that he nevertheless wanted to at least try. As the last seconds ticked down, he added one last class to the list and tucked the tiny stylus behind his ear out of habit.

There was a loud buzzer noise, and everyone in the room fell silent. Erikson stepped back up to the front of the room and smiled at them.

“Congratulations,” he said. “You have now set your schedules for the next four years. Your schedule has been forwarded to your academic adviser, who has been assigned based on your major. Tonight or tomorrow morning, you should receive a notification telling you when your appointment with your adviser is. You will meet with them before classes begin in two weeks.”

There was a low murmur in the room. Slim stared at Erikson in surprise. Two _weeks?_ Why the hell had they all had to get there so early if there would be two _weeks_ before classes started? Everyone got quiet fairly quickly, though, realizing that there had to be an explanation coming. There had to be.

Erikson’s smile, as the silence fell, was bright enough to rival the stars. “It is traditional at the Academy for first-year cadets to arrive one week before classes begin, for a week filled with bonding exercises and meet-and-greets. However, cadets who are coming from elsewhere than the planet Earth are asked to arrive _two_ weeks prior to the start of classes, in order to familiarize themselves with the campus, as well as Earth’s gravity and customs. There will be several campus tours organized as well. The cadets who live on Earth already took a tour when they arrived at the Academy for their entrance examinations and interviews.” He studied the room at large. “Now, on to the next part of the orientation—your room assignments.”

Suddenly, every single PADD in the room let out a loud chirrup. Several people fumbled or dropped them in surprise. Slim glanced down at his to see that he had a new message. Erikson nodded. “You have just received your room assignments. You may open them now, or wait to do so over dinner. If you would like to wait until dinner, please stand up and exit the forum to your left. You will be shown the way to the student cafeteria at this end of campus. Please memorize the route, as you will be expected to retrace your steps in two standard hours’ time.”

Sparky stood quickly. Laughing, Slim stood as well, slipping his PADD into the pocket of his jeans. “Brae, you comin’?”

“Yeah,” Braeden said softly, getting to his feet. He was staring at his PADD, though, but he hadn’t opened the message.

“Braeden,” Slim said softly, touching his friend on the arm. “It’ll be okay. Even if we ain’t roommates, I reckon they’ll have all the majors together anyway. You won’t be alone.”

Braeden smiled weakly. “Thanks, TJ.”

Slim guessed he was going to have to start thinking of himself as TJ instead of Slim. He’d grown up with the Slim nickname, but he’d kind of outgrown it in the last couple of years. His new friends had dubbed him “TJ” upon first meeting him, and if that was how he was going to be known at the Academy—and probably beyond—he’d have to start retraining himself. It’d take more than a couple of months, though. It was like putting on a whole different mindset—less western and more California. It made him think of that cop show they’d shown at the Roxie from time to time. He definitely didn’t possess that fire and confidence.

The steady stream of cadets trickling out of Forum B joined up with the stream flowing out of the other two forums. Slim, who was among the tallest cadets—the tallest _human_ cadets, he amended—was able to see a little better than Braeden, and certainly better than Sparky, who was about on eye level with most cadets’ shoulder blades. The trouble was, there were quite a few Vulcan cadets, so he couldn’t immediately pick out T’Mel. He saw M’err easily, though—he was the only Caitian in the class—and navigated toward him, one hand on Braeden’s elbow and the other on Sparky’s shoulder. M’err was scanning the crowd almost anxiously, his ears flicking, but he visibly relaxed when he saw Slim heading his way.

“Hey,” he rumbled, causing one or two cadets to shy away from him, like he might be about to attack them. “How was it?”

Braeden smiled up at him, also looking visibly relieved. “Blissfully uneventful. How was yours?”

“Not too bad. Let’s get some food.”

Slim discreetly stepped to one side so that Braeden was between him and M’err. “Good idea. Then we can compare schedules and room assignments.”

M’err frowned at him. “You got your assignments already? We didn’t. We still have another half of the orientation to go, after all. For today, anyway.”

“For today?” Sparky turned around and almost tripped over his own feet. He quickly dropped back so that he was walking on Slim’s other side. “We have _more_ orientation?”

“Well, _you_ don’t,” M’err said dryly. “But those of us on the Command track will be in orientation events for the entire week prior to the first day of classes. We get this week off to bond with our classmates and learn our way around campus, but we have been given a very strict schedule for next week. For _all_ cadets on the Command track. The cadets from Earth who are on the Command track arrive next Sunday for their initial orientation before what Commander Xuttaall called ‘boot camp.’”

“Sounds like fun,” Braeden said dryly. “Xuttaall. I’m not familiar with that name…what race is it?”

“Tellurite, I believe.”

Slim pulled a look of comic despair. “Good luck.”

M’err grinned, revealing his pointed fangs. “I think I can handle myself.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to apologize; I know the Orientation bit is kind of dragging out, or that's how it seems, but in my defense, actual orientation lasts this long, too. I thought about putting it all in one chapter, but I thought breaking it into manageable chunks would work better, at least at this point in the story.
> 
> So, we've got one more chapter of Orientation after this, and then I swear we're done with it and will be moving on.


	4. Remember When

_Cadet’s log, Stardate 2274.213, supplemental. According to our official orientation lecture, cadets are encouraged to learn to get along with those from all walks of life, and as such, first-year cadets are not permitted to select their own roommates, nor are we allowed to change roommates without a valid, compelling reason until our second year. All I will say about this particular arrangement is that at least I know one other person in my building._

_~*~*~*~_

If there was one thing Slim had to offer his new friends, it was that he knew how to navigate a crowded mess hall. This one might have had ten times as many people in it as the _Enterprise_ ever held, but space-wise, it wasn’t any more crowded than the Deck Five mess.

The actual food-service area was divided in two. On one side was a traditional cafeteria, with food laid out under heat lamps and workers manning the stations to serve; it was moving quickly, but still crowded as hell. The other side had the food slots Slim had grown used to on the _Enterprise._ One or two people were walking up to it, studying it, poking hesitantly at a few things, and then slouching off to join the ever-growing traditional line.

Sparky’s stomach growled, and he looked longingly at the empty wall. “Does that do anything, or is it just for decoration and befuddling first-year cadets?”

Slim’s stomach rumbled, too, reminding him he hadn’t eaten since early that morning. “C’mon. I’ll show y’all how to use ‘em.”

There were stacks of cards arranged neatly in rows on the wall to the back of the cafeteria. Slim instructed the other three in how to combine smaller cards into a full meal. More than a few cadets looked at them enviously as they collected their food and headed for a table tucked unobtrusively in a corner.

Before they had quite reached it, though, a small group of four came hesitantly up to them. They were all human, or at least humanoid. One of them bowed hesitantly to Slim. “Excuse me,” he said, his voice shaking with obvious nerves. “But this seems like a much easier way of—would you please explain how this works to us?”

“Of course.” Slim turned to Braeden, who had also stopped. “C’n you take this for me, please? I’ll be right there.”

“Sure.” Braeden took Slim’s plate and cup, balancing them easily on his arms like he’d been accustomed to waiting tables.

Slim led the four people who had come up to him over to the food slots and, once again, walked them through the process of setting up the cards and inserting them into the slots. The one who had spoken looked positively gleeful when the machine beeped and surrendered his meal. “I did it! It worked!” He turned a huge beam on Slim. “Thanks so much!”

“Any time,” Slim said, feeling a grin cross his own face in response.

The other cadet held out a hand. “I’m Darrell Kingston, Navigation.”

“Thomas Kirk. Engineering.” Slim shook the cadet’s hand. “Good to meet you.”

“Good to meet you too.”

The other three introduced themselves—Alden Lavanchy, Makeda Verrill, Ellena Severt—and Slim shook hands with them all before heading back to join his friends. He was a little startled that they hadn’t touched their food yet. “Y’all didn’t have to wait on me.”

“Didn’t seem right somehow.” Braeden glanced over his shoulder and grinned. “Hey, look at that.”

Another group had approached Lavanchy, and there was a Tellarite trailed by a couple more squaring up against Severt, both of whom led the groups over to the cards and began explaining. M’err’s fangs bared in a grin. “And so it begins.”

Sparky poked his sandwich like he expected it to start moving. “This is real food, right? It’s not—like—plasticine and polymers, right?”

“No, it’s real. They make it in the kitchens an’ then it gets transported to the slots when you put in the right cards,” Slim explained. “Leastaways, that’s how Sulu explained it.”

Just then, a group of Vulcans came in, all discussing something with extreme seriousness. Slim noticed T’Mel with them, mostly because she went towards the food slots without breaking stride and the others started to join the line before halting in some mild confusion before following her. Sparky snickered.

“Think they’ll ask her to explain how it works?” Braeden asked.

Slim shrugged, turning back to the table. “Dunno. She wasn’t gonna ask any of us how they worked on the _Enterprise_ —said she was ‘capable of determining their operation for herself.’” He did his best to mimic T’Mel’s tone. “Think she listened when Chekov explained it to V’Las, though.”

“Who is V’Las?” M’err asked.

“V’Las is my elder brother, the third son,” T’Mel said, making Slim and Braeden both jump. She seemed not to notice as she took a seat between Sparky and M’err and nodded to each of them. “I apologize for the delay in my arrival. I have not been on New Vulcan in quite some time and was unaware of certain situations.”

“Such as?” Braeden prompted.

“Such as would not interest outsiders.” T’Mel picked up her fork and stabbed it into her salad with a certain finality. “I trust your afternoon sessions went well.”

Slim had lived with Spock long enough to recognize a Vulcan stonewall when he saw one. “Yeah, lots of talking. Set up our four-year plan.”

“We got our roommate assignments, too,” Sparky put in. “Except M’err hasn’t gotten his yet because apparently the Command cadets have to wait their turn. Did you get yours?”

T’Mel gave a single nod. “Yes, we received them just before we ended the session for lunch. I have not examined mine, however.”

“Neither have we. We were waiting to do it all together,” Braeden said. “Eat first or check first?”

“What?” Sparky said, his mouth full of food.

Slim tried not to laugh. “I reckon we’re eating first.”

They traded desultory conversation about the earlier session as they demolished their food. It didn’t take long; Slim realized that none of them had eaten since they’d served breakfast on the shuttle that morning, and it had been about nine hours since then. T’Mel was going at a more normal rate, but Slim wasn’t sure how much of that was Vulcan metabolism being different and how much of it was her burying her emotions.

At last, Braeden pushed away his empty plate. “All right. Let’s take a look at these messages, shall we?”

Slim set his fork in his plate and fished out the PADD. He glanced at the time as he activated it—it had only been about twenty minutes since they’d been released, plenty of time. “Yeah, let’s do this.”

One by one, they all activated their PADDs. M’err seemed disappointed as he looked at his. “Still no message for me.”

“You’ll get it,” Slim assured him. He glanced at the others. “On three?” When they nodded, he turned to M’err. “You wanna count us off?”

M’err counted them off, and as he said _three,_ they all opened the messages they had received. Slim studied his. It was a fairly standard Starfleet bulletin, laying out the facts in stark black text.

**MEMO: ROOM ASSIGNMENT, YEAR 1  
Cadet Name: **KIRK, Thomas James  
 **Track:** Engineering  
 **Building:** A110  
 **Floor:** Fifth  
 **Room Number:** 5115  
 **Roommate Name:** MARGOLIS, Zev Chaim

He glanced up. Sparky was scowling at his PADD. Braeden was worrying at his lower lip. T’Mel’s face was as expressionless as always. Slim cleared his throat. “I guess none of y’all know your roommates, either?”

“I did not expect to know my roommate, as I have only met the four of you and did not deem it likely that we would be placed in the same room,” T’Mel replied.

Sparky shook his head, still scowling. “I can’t even pronounce this guy’s name, it’s got all sorts of weird accents in it. But I’m in Building A104. Third floor, room 3102.”

Braeden’s face fell. “Oh,” he said quietly. “I kind of thought we’d all be together. I’m in Building A110. Fifth floor, room 5001.”

“Hey, I’m on the fifth floor of A110, too,” Slim told Braeden, which did at least make him perk up a little. “Room 5115. What about you, T’Mel?”

“I am in Building A101,” T’Mel replied, “on the second floor. My room number is 2124.”

Sparky started to say something, but just then, there were a series of chirps from around the room. M’err glanced down quickly at his PADD. “I have my roommate assignment,” he rumbled. “Hold on.”

He pulled up the message and studied it for a moment, then set it aside. “A102,” he announced glumly. “First floor, room 1076.”

Braeden’s shoulders slumped. Slim immediately felt bad for his friend. “Hang on, let me see something here.”

He closed out of the message and went back to the main screen. There was an icon on it that looked kind of like a map marker, so he tapped it and discovered exactly what he’d hoped for—a map of Starfleet Academy. The pocket-sized screen made it difficult to see clearly, but he was able to increase the size so that he could make out individual buildings, and he discovered that when he touched his stylus to a building, an info box popped up to let him know the name and purpose of the buildings, with an option to find out more should he so desire.

“Guys, look,” he said, laying his PADD flat down on the table. The others craned their heads in to see as Slim experimentally tapped on a couple of buildings. Finally, he discovered a series of oddly-shaped buildings with a round central atrium and four wings, like the leaves of a clover, extending off it by means of slender hallways, and when he touched one of the leaves, the legend read A101 - UNDERGRADUATE DORMITORIES. “Well, I’ve found your building, T’Mel.”

“So that one’s A104, right?” Sparky asked, pointing to three buildings down from A101.

Slim touched the stylus to the center of the building, but nothing came up. Frowning, he touched one of the leaves. This time it popped up with the legend A114 - UNDERGRADUATE DORMITORIES. “Wait, what?”

“Oh, I get it,” Braeden said suddenly. “Each—wing, I guess—is considered a separate building. The center bit must just be the common stairs or something.”

“Sure, that ain’t confusin’ at all,” Slim muttered. “So that means…” He tapped one of the other wings in the same structure as A101 and discovered that it was, in fact, A104. “Okay, so A110 must be…” He bit his lip and his eyes flicked back and forth as he worked out the pattern, then tapped on one of the wings in the third building.

The legend popped up immediately: A110 - UNDERGRADUATE DORMITORIES.

Braeden blinked at him. “That…how did you do that?”

Slim shrugged. “Simple logic. This building started at A101 in the upper left, an’ since the lower left was A104, it stands to reason that the numbers go clockwise.” He tapped the wing to the right of A101, revealing that it was in fact A102. “Which meant that the upper left building in the next structure was A105. Clockwise around again, that means the lower left is A108, which means this structure starts with A109 and A110 is in the upper right.”

T’Mel inclined her head. “He is correct. That is the simple logical deduction.”

“But how did you know A110 wasn’t that way?” M’err challenged, pointing at the building to the left of the first one.

“Because that one was A114,” Sparky told him, pointing to the building they’d originally thought was A104. “So it had to go up that way. I mean, I’ve seen buildings with crazy layouts before, but this is Starfleet Academy and if you start putting things haphazardly everybody would be lost all the time.”

Slim sighed and closed out the map. “Any rate, at least we know where we’ll be livin’. And y’all ain’t too far away from us.”

Braeden contemplated his PADD again. “I just hope…” he mumbled, then shook his head. “Never mind. What time is it?”

Sparky checked his own PADD. “We’ve got an hour before we have to be back. Wonder if we’re allowed seconds?”

Slim pointed wordlessly to the sign right next to the food slots that said, in big bold letters, IF YOU ARE GETTING SECOND HELPINGS, PLEASE USE THE CARDS DESIGNATED FOR THE PURPOSE. Sparky looked at it, then grinned sheepishly at Slim. “Anyone else still hungry?”

“I’ll come get dessert with you.” Slim pushed back from his seat.

M’err also opted for seconds. Braeden declined, and T’Mel was still working on her meal. It didn’t take long to find the Second Helpings cards, and Sparky and M’err quickly learned that that meant smaller portions. Slim bypassed them entirely and selected a single card from the dessert rack.

“Peach pie?” Braeden asked as they came back to their seats.

Slim shrugged. “My pa’s comfort food.” And he needed to keep his family close today.

They chatted a little more as they finished up their food. Slim showed them where the dish receptacles were, thankful they were in the same place as he was used to, and they headed back into the hallway.

“Back to the forums, I suppose,” Braeden muttered.

Slim nodded. “Yeah, better that we’re back early than late, I reckon.”

T’Mel hesitated briefly. “I admit that I was not paying attention to where we were walking on our way to the cafeteria. I was too engrossed in the conversation.”

“That’s all right, T’Mel,” M’err assured her. “I noted the appropriate landmarks on the way down here. I can easily lead us back.”

“Did those landmarks include the big purple sunburst hanging right after one of the turns we made?” Braeden asked, looking over Slim’s shoulder.

M’err frowned. “Yes, why?”

Braeden pointed. “Because someone just carried it that way.”

Slim turned, and sure enough, two people in nondescript grey outfits were scuttling down the hallway with the wall decoration he’d noticed as a helpful guide to their turn. He also noticed someone walking by, whistling, with a rolled-up cloth under his arm that he guessed was a banner he’d marked unconsciously. His shoulders slumped. “Oh. It’s another test.”

“Hey, we’re cool,” Sparky promised. “I know where we’re going.”

M’err frowned at him. “You were in the middle of the group. You couldn’t see anything.”

“Yeah, I know, but you can’t see your way around the mines, either, especially the parts where you can’t take a light or anything.” Sparky started off down the hallway, gesturing for the others to fall into step with him. “So if you have to spend any kind of time in them, you learn to count steps and measure distances and all that sort of thing, you know? After a while it just gets to be a habit, whether you’re in darkness or not. If you do a route often enough, you pick up on other stuff, like the way your footsteps sound when you get to certain points and what it smells like down one particular fork in the road and the textures of darkness that show you where there’s been a rockfall or something. That’s something else that helps in a mine, even when you’ve got a light, because there are always new tunnels being opened and old ones being closed and accidents changing the geography of a place, and besides that, sometimes there’ll be a vein of ore that you thought wasn’t worth the time it’d take to dig it out because it’s worthless that you use as a touchstone, and then someone new will come in and know six practical uses for it and chip it out of the wall, and if you’re relying on it to know where a turn is you’re shit out of luck. If you don’t have an eidetic memory, you have to learn how to compensate.”

Slim grinned. “Bet you’d kick ass in Navigation.”

Sparky grinned at him in reply. “Nah. All I can do is retrace steps. Figuring out where we are and how to get where we need to be, no matter where in space we are? I’ve got nothing.”

M’err grunted. “I ought to have picked Navigation as a minor. Stupid of me to choose Chemistry.”

“I’m doing Navigation,” Braeden said softly. “I figured it would be something useful to have.”

“Chemistry will be useful as well,” T’Mel said. “We do not all need to study the same subjects. Indeed, it will greatly aid us if we have a balance of disciplines among the five of us, as we will be more likely to be assigned to the same postings once we are fully commissioned officers.”

Slim grinned. “That was our thinkin’, too. What minors are you takin’, T’Mel? Or minor?”

“I will be studying Xenobotany and Neurobiology. What did you choose, Thomas?”

“Piloting and Xenolinguistics, the language subtype.”

T’Mel lifted an eyebrow. “Fascinating. I would have expected you to select a minor closer or more relevant to your major.”

Slim shrugged. “Like you said, it helps to have a balance of disciplines. An’ I reckon it can’t hurt to know as many languages as I can, just in case the universal translators ever break down. Since I already know a few words in a couple different languages, I reckoned I’d learn more of ‘em.”

“If I may ask, which languages have you begun to learn?” T’Mel asked.

“Depends on what you mean by ‘begun to learn,’” Slim said with a laugh.

“I would say that you have begun to learn a language if you have learned a minimum of twenty words and five phrases,” T’Mel replied immediately.

Slim counted in his head. “In that case, Vulcan, Swahili, an’ Russian. I know a couple words in Japanese an’ a little bit of French, an’ I can swear in six more languages, but that’s about it.”

Braeden actually grinned, which was good, because he’d been looking kind of downcast. “You can swear in six languages?”

“I can swear in ten languages, if you count English—eleven if you count sign language,” Slim told him.

“How do you learn to cuss like that?”

“I helped out in Engineering.”

Even T’Mel cracked a smile at that one.

They turned out to be the first ones back to the forums, which didn’t really surprise Slim; they still had fifteen minutes to go. He and Sparky and Braeden returned to their seats and sat quietly, watching other people begin to trickle in as the clock on the screen counted down. More than three-quarters of the people who’d been in the room before dinner were still absent when the clock hit the final minute. Slim assumed they were either still finishing up their food or wandering the halls, hopelessly lost.

The clock hit zero, and Erikson returned to the stage. If he noticed the room was still mostly empty, he gave no sign. “Welcome back, cadets. I trust you enjoyed your first official Starfleet Academy meal. We’ve just got a little bit more to go over, and then you will be escorted to your dormitories. Please pull out your PADDs and…”

Slim reckoned that there were a lot of people confused during that lecture, since they’d missed the start of it. Some came in talking, shortly after the lecture began, then got silent when they realized Erikson was up on the stage talking. Others came in silently, creeping in with the knowledge that they were late. Through it all, Erikson never broke stride, merely continued explaining how the tours would be organized, what the club fair would entail, and when they could report to pick up their uniforms.

“And that concludes your orientation,” he said at last. “Welcome to Starfleet Academy. Now, for those of you who were here when we began again, please follow the instructions on your PADDs. The rest of you will wait until they’ve left, and then we’ll walk you through what you missed.”

Slim felt a little self-conscious as he stood up and edged out of the seats, but at least nobody was staring. He was surprised at first at how many people got up, but then he realized that many of them were simply moving closer to the front, the better to hear their instructions. Sparky was shaking his head as they stepped out. “Noticed a couple of those people were the same ones who had to walk out of the room to get their PADDs reset earlier—did they not learn their lessons?”

“Some people never learn,” Slim replied.

The atrium they’d entered initially had been cleared of tables and luggage alike. Instead, there was only a single podium, standing sentinel in front of the door. M’err and T’Mel were already waiting for them when they arrived. T’Mel inclined her head in their direction. “I trust you received the same instructions we did.”

“Yeah, probably,” Slim said absently, glancing at the screen of his PADD and then at the podium. There was a short, disorderly queue in front of it. “Who wants to go first?”

None of them answered at first. When they reached the front of the line, however, M’err nodded at Slim. “You go first, TJ.”

Slim gave his friend a mocking salute, which was answered with a growl, and stepped up to the podium. He rested his forefinger on the screen of his PADD and waved it over the sensor panel set into the middle of it.

A bright red light glowed on the podium, then suddenly dropped to the ground and started heading out the door—fast. Slim didn’t waste breath on goodbyes. He instantly zigzagged around the podium and began following the light.

He was distantly aware of his surroundings, vaguely aware of other cadets crossing his path or running alongside him or occasionally standing still, but he didn’t dare take his eyes off the red light. He felt just the slightest bit like a cat chasing a laser pointer, but it didn’t matter. The light was his guide, and if he lost it for even a second, he’d be stranded God knew where. Erikson had been very firm about that.

_It won’t take you directly to your dorm room._ The man’s voice echoed in Slim’s head as he jagged to one side to avoid an obstacle in the path that the light had simply flicked over. _No sense in memorizing your surroundings, because this won’t be a straight route. You’ll have to use your maps in the morning. This is just a fun challenge._

_Fun, my ass,_ Slim thought, barely avoiding a low-hanging branch that he almost hadn’t seen. _This is another test._

The paths he ran ranged from tile to cement to dirt, and at one point he was pretty sure he wasn’t even on an actual path at all. Speed ranged from a slow walk to a flat-out run. He sent a mental thank-you to his father, Sulu, and Audra for helping him build up his stamina. At last, he wound up on a gravel path, and the light slowed him to a jog, then a walk. A low, matte black ramp led up to a set of doors that swooshed open at his approach, and as he stepped through, the light vanished, leaving him to look around.

From the circular nature of the walls, Slim guessed he was in the central atrium of one of the dorm buildings—and from the fact that the light was gone, he deduced that it was his own building. There were four lifts, each flanked by a door on one side and the familiar entrance to a Jeffries tube on the other. Each lift was numbered.

Slim pressed the button for the lift marked A110. Before it arrived, however, the door to the building swooshed open behind him and Braeden came in, puffing and obviously out of breath. He saw Slim and lifted his eyebrows. “You didn’t—have to wait—for me,” he huffed.

“I didn’t,” Slim said, also raising his eyebrows in surprise. “I just got here.”

“Huh.” Braeden doubled over, his hands on his knees, and breathed heavily.

“You’re gonna hyperventilate. Take it slow, Brae.” Slim helped Braeden upright just as the lift arrived. They both stepped into it, and Slim reached up for one of the levers. “Fifth floor.”

The lift rose upwards, a little jerkier than the one on the _Enterprise_ —it obviously wasn’t quite a turbolift, or else it wasn’t as well maintained—but smoothly enough. Braeden managed to catch his breath just before the lift doors opened, exposing a narrow hallway that reminded Slim of the ones on Starbase 26, although it wasn’t quite as long.

They crossed the corridor and found themselves at the crux of a three-way intersection. Signs posted on the walls indicated which range of numbers could be found by heading in which direction, but Slim ignored them. “Want to walk together until we find your room?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Braeden said with a sigh of relief. “We—uh—we can look for your room, too…”

“No, it’s okay.” Slim pointed to the nearest door, which read 5200; the door opposite read 5199. “Once we find your room, it won’t be hard to figure out which way mine is. Just follow the pattern.”

As it happened, they came across 5115 first, about halfway up a crosswise corridor leading off the central one. 5001 turned out to be at the extreme farthest point of the wing from the lift. Braeden swallowed nervously.

“Look at it this way,” Slim said encouragingly. “Maybe you’ll have a window, since you’re on an outer wall.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Braeden tried to smile. “Thanks for walking me out here, TJ. Meet you in the morning for breakfast?”

“Yeah, sounds good. G’night, Brae.” Slim patted his friend on the shoulder and headed back down the corridors.

His dorm room was actually pretty spacious—about the size of his dad and stepfather’s room back on the _Enterprise,_ except with two single beds instead of a king-sized one. There were two dressers, two wardrobes, two desks with chairs, and two nightstands. Both beds had been made with standard-issue sheets, just like the ones on the bed he’d slept in for the last few years. His seabag had been brought into the room already and sat on the bed in the back.

“Okay,” he said aloud. “Guess that one’s mine.”

He crossed the room and began unpacking. His clothing went into the dresser nearest his bed—not that he had much, nor would he need much, since they’d be issued uniforms to wear most of the time—except for his two more formal dancing outfits, which went into the wardrobe. He stacked the PADDs he’d brought with him in the lower space of the nightstand, except for the one with the books he was currently rereading, which went on top.

There were a few other personal items in the bag. The quilt Leo’d given him for his fourteenth birthday, which went on the bed; the picture Addie had drawn for him, which went on the wall next to his bed; a photo PADD he’d picked up and used to take pictures of himself and his friends aboard the ship, which he put on the desk; some odds and ends that went into the drawer of the nightstand. Last of all was a framed picture. Slim took it in both hands and sat on the edge of his bed, staring at it.

Someone—probably Uhura—had taken the picture at Slim’s seventeenth birthday party. It was of him, grinning ear to ear, with Addie sitting on his shoulder, one arm curled around his head and the other flung up dramatically, an impish smile on her own face. He’d picked her up and sat her there at the end of the song they’d been dancing to, the one called “Take a Little One-Step.” It was how they’d always ended that particular dance, and they did it a lot, because Addie loved that song.

Tears blurred Slim’s eyes, and he took a moment to wipe them away with his sleeve. God, he missed everyone on the _Enterprise,_ but he probably missed Addie most. Or close to the most, anyway.

He set the picture on his nightstand, then folded up the now-empty seabag and tucked it under the bed, out of the way. With nothing else to do, he changed into his pajamas, picked up the PADD, and started reading.

He finished the entire book before he was able to convince himself to lie down and try to sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we have reached the end of Orientation! Next chapter will be a little more exciting, I promise. It'll still probably be a couple more chapters before classes officially start, however.
> 
> Also, chapter title is taken from the Alan Jackson song of the same name.


	5. God Give Me a Moment's Grace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay in getting this one up. We had plumbing issues that--between helping my mom fix them and having to leave half an hour earlier in the mornings to take a shower at work, thereby necessitating that I went to bed earlier--ate into my writing time most of the weekend, and on top of that I had a work function Saturday night. I sincerely hope it's worth the (relatively short, if you were following Had He Known It) wait.
> 
> Chapter title is from "Probably Wouldn't Be This Way" by LeAnn Rimes.

_Cadet’s log, Stardate 2274.214. It surprises me how well I was able to sleep, considering that for the first time in almost five years, I am on solid ground and unable to hear the ambient noise of the_ Enterprise’s _engines. It’s also a bit disconcerting to know that neither my sister nor my parents will be waiting for me when I step out of the room. However, once I did fall asleep, I slept heavily and thoroughly, and awoke rested and ready for another day._

_Whatever it may bring._

_~*~*~*~_

Slim hadn’t set his alarm, but it turned out he didn’t need it. Old habits were hard to break, and he woke up at precisely 0700 hours—just enough time to get dressed, brush his teeth, and have breakfast before Alpha shift started. Even on days he hadn’t been scheduled in Engineering, he’d still gotten up in time to have breakfast with his family before they all scattered for the day. It actually took him a minute to realize that Addie wasn’t next door and wouldn’t be pouncing on him if he slept in. Surprisingly, that was enough to get him out of bed.

Well, that and the press of his bladder. As he swung his feet out of bed and ran a hand through his hair, he was operating mostly on autopilot until his eyes lit on the other bed in the room, which was about the time his brain prompted him with the reminder that there wasn’t a bathroom attached to the room.

Still about half-asleep, Slim jammed his feet into his slippers, snatched up his PADD, and padded out of the room. He’d mostly marked the locations of the bathrooms, or at least some of them, but he wasn’t one hundred percent confident of them. Logically, he knew they couldn’t be too far away and were probably somewhat centrally located. Mostly they seemed to be on corners.

Sure enough, he found one that had a series of toilet stalls, urinals, and contraptions he could only assume were there to cater to the biological functions of non-humanoid aliens in it. He selected one that seemed harmless and took care of business. When he went to wash his hands, however, he was mildly dismayed to find that there was only a small, dirty piece of soap half-glued to one of the soap dishes. It was at least enough to let the water stick to his hands, though, so he was able to get the dirt off before heading back to his room.

He dressed for comfort rather than to impress anyone, a pair of jeans and a flannel shirt, and combed his hair until it lay mostly flat. He was still trying to get his comb untangled when there was a knock on his door.

“Enter,” he called, without any real conscious thought.

Nothing happened. He glanced up to see the door still resolutely shut. Frowning, he got to his feet and crossed the room, then pushed the small release on the side to activate the door. It slid open, exposing Braeden, who looked a lot more tired than Slim was.

“Hey,” he said. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah, just let me get my shoes on.” Slim stepped back and gestured for Braeden to come into the room.

Braeden followed him, then glanced at his feet and smiled. “Never pegged you as the fuzzy bunny slippers type.”

Slim blushed. “Birthday present from one of my friends on the _Enterprise,”_ he mumbled, toeing out of them and grabbing a pair of socks out of his drawer. They’d actually been a kind of a joke, but Kelly had cautioned him that he’d probably want them on the perpetually cold tile floors of the Academy dorms. It wasn’t like there was anyone around he wanted to impress, after all.

He got his socks and shoes on quickly, then tucked his PADD into the pocket of his flannel shirt. “Right, let’s get goin’. You want we should head over an’ try to get the others?”

“I thought about that, but I don’t know that they’ll still be there,” Braeden admitted. “I figured we’d just meet up with them in the cafeteria.”

“Reckon that’s a smart idea,” Slim agreed. “Think they’ll go back to the one we ate at yesterday, or try to find one closer?”

Braeden paled. “There’s more than one?”

“Braeden. Starfleet Academy has a population of thirty thousand students, plus all the staff. Did that cafeteria we were in yesterday really look like it could handle that many?” Slim pulled out his PADD again and called up the Academy map, then tapped the fork-and-knife icon that was still the universal map symbol for food. At least a dozen dots popped up.

Braeden blinked at it, then took a deep breath. “Well…we have no idea which one we were at yesterday, remember? Not unless Sparky leads them on whatever convoluted route the dot took him on to get to that building. So…so I guess it’ll be the nearest one?”

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Slim agreed. He made the map bigger and hunted around until he found their dormitories, then located the nearest dot. “I reckon that’s the one they’re at, then. Leastaways, I hope so, ‘cause that’s where we’re headin’.”

They headed out of the dorm room and took the lift to the ground floor. There wasn’t exactly a GPS on the map—or if there was, Slim hadn’t activated it—so they had to do it old-school. Luckily, Braeden had a little bit of training in map-following.

“I was in Scouting when I was little,” he said softly in response to Slim’s query. “The year before we moved to Kappa Delta II. I didn’t do much, but one of the merit badges we earned on a camping trip had to do with following maps and that kind of thing.”

“Sounds like fun,” Slim said.

Braeden’s smile was melancholy, at best. “Were you ever a Scout?”

Slim snorted and shook his head. “I was in foster care for eleven years. Most of the homes I was in barely cared ‘bout gettin’ me to school, let alone extracurriculars. Even when I was in a good home, I wasn’t there long enough to put down roots.”

“I didn’t know that.” Braeden looked somewhat disquieted.

“No reason you should’ve. It ain’t come up before.” Slim clapped Braeden on the back. “C’mon, let’s go.”

Not only did they beat their friends to the cafeteria, there was _nobody_ else in the room. Slim could feel Braeden amping up for a panic attack and put a hand on his back again. “Hey, it’s okay,” he said, keeping his voice to the same low, soothing tones he’d used on Addie after a nightmare. “We’re just early risers. They’ll be along. C’mon, you’ve gotta eat somethin’.”

Braeden still seemed twitchy and jumpy, but he let himself be led to the food slots. His wandering attention sharpened into focus when he saw what Slim had picked. “What is _that?_ ”

“Grits,” Slim said airily. “With butter.”

“Is it anything like porridge?”

“Porridge is kind of the broad term for anythin’ starchy ground up an’ boiled in water, so yeah, grits are a kind of porridge. It’s made of corn.”

Braeden hesitated, then shrugged. “What the hell, I’ll try anything once.”

They sat down with their grits and drinks—black coffee for Slim, sweet milky tea for Braeden—and began eating. Neither said anything at first, but it wasn’t hard for Slim to notice that Braeden was only picking at his meal, mainly because he was doing the same.

Finally, for lack of anything better to say, he asked, “Sleep okay?”

“Yeah, surprisingly,” Braeden admitted. “It’s…I didn’t expect to get much rest. I’ve never slept in a room alone before.”

“Never?” Slim blurted, surprised.

Braeden blushed and lowered his head. “Yeah, we—there were eleven people living in our house and only two bedrooms. I had to share. I used to try sleeping in the closet to get some alone space, but, well…” He worried at his lower lip.

Slim winced. His room aboard the _Enterprise_ hadn’t been what one would call spacious, but it had been _his._ He could empathize with Braeden to a point—that room, with the exception of the few months he’d spent with Mr. Pinkerton, had been the only time in his life he _hadn’t_ had to share—but still, he knew what it was like to sleep alone, had even gotten used to it. Braeden had never had that chance. “I’m sorry. But you slept okay?”

“Yeah, once I fell asleep, I was out like a light. Weird to wake up and not—to wake up on my own, too.”

“I hear you,” Slim agreed. “For both of those things.”

Just then, Slim’s PADD gave a loud chirrup, startling both of them. He fished it out of his pocket and found a message on it from CDT Q WATSON. [ _Hi! Did you know there’s a messaging thingy on these things? Which cafeteria are you guys at? Or are you wandering around lost? Please tell me Braeden is with you, ‘cause I can’t find him in the contact list._ ]

Slim laughed, and he angled the PADD to show Braeden. “Did you know that?”

“No.” Braeden turned pale for a moment, which surprised Slim, then swallowed and smiled. “Well, that’s handy to know, anyway.”

Slim tapped on the REPLY button under the message. A keyboard popped up, and he tapped out a message using his stylus. [I didn’t, but I’m glad I do now. Brae and I are in the mess hall nearest the dorm rooms.]

A moment later, the message popped up in reply. [ _Good, because that’s where we were heading for. See you in a minute._ ]

“They’re on their way,” Slim told Braeden, who looked relieved.

By unspoken agreement, they held off on eating until M’err, Sparky, and T’Mel arrived. M’err didn’t appear to have slept at all; Sparky’s hair was a rumpled mess, as though he’d rolled out of bed and into his clothing without stopping in between, but then it had to be admitted that it always kind of looked like that. T’Mel, of course, looked as perfectly put-together as always. She led the other two over to the food slots.

Braeden leaned over. “Do Vulcans _get_ rumpled?” he asked in a low voice.

“Dunno,” Slim replied, also keeping his voice low. “I never saw Uncle Spock lookin’ a mess in all the years I’ve known him, either.”

Soon enough, all five of them were clustered around the table, making inroads on their breakfasts. M’err’s was heavy on the protein; T’Mel had nothing but a fruit salad, which seemed to mostly be more exotic fruits than normally found on Earth. Sparky, after asking Slim and Braeden about their meals, had also returned with a bowl of grits.

“Say, this is pretty good,” he said cheerfully. “So, what’re we gonna do today? They’re not starting the official tours until tomorrow, right? Same with uniform pickup. And I’m not scheduled to meet with my adviser for another four days. But I don’t really want to just sit around today doing nothing, so do you guys want to explore or something?”

Slim hesitated. “I’d like to have some idea of where I’m goin’. We can take an official tour later an’ get the history, but no harm in wanderin’ on our own, is there?”

“I’m game,” Braeden said with a shrug.

T’Mel tilted her head. “Where shall we begin?”

Sparky gestured to the hall around them. Unfortunately, it was with the hand holding his spoon, so he accidentally spattered Slim and T’Mel with grits. “Oops, sorry. But yeah, we’ll start here, _duh._ ”

“What’s our plan of attack, then?” M’err pulled out his PADD. “The maps on these things are kind of small, and they’re difficult to see, if you ask me.”

Slim tapped the end of the spoon against his bowl, thinking. “Well, I reckon that depends on whether or not you’ve got a specific destination in mind.”

T’Mel frowned. “What do you mean?”

“D’you want to figure out where our classes are, or find all the cafeterias, or just wander around an’ get a feel for the place?” Slim elaborated. “If we’re doin’ that last one, I reckon we don’t need a plan. We can just pick a direction an’ start walkin’ an’ see what we find. If we wanna know our way from, say, here to where we’ll have to be first thing next Monday mornin’, well, then we’ll need a plan.”

“What do you recommend, Cadet?” M’err asked with a raised eyebrow. “Since you have some experience with this sort of thing.”

Slim pondered, but only for a moment. Adopting his most professional, Spock-like tone, he answered, “The official tours will likely give us the highlights of the ‘important’ locations, such as academic buildings and significant landmarks. If we travel without a specific goal or destination, we will be able to discover the hidden treasures of the Academy, and perhaps a few out-of-the-way places we might not otherwise learn about. Therefore, I recommend an exploratory path.”

M’err gave a sharp bark of laughter. “Well, then. Taking your recommendation into consideration, I find it a good one. Let’s go exploring.”

They finished their breakfasts and disposed of their dishes, then stepped outside. Slim glanced upwards, just taking everything in. The sky was a very pale shade of blue, with a lot of high, thin clouds giving it a milky appearance. A breeze blew through the campus, ruffling M’err’s fur and teasing a few strands of T’Mel’s hair into streamers.

“Sunwise or widdershins?” Sparky asked, hands on his hips.

M’err pursed his lips thoughtfully, glancing back in the direction the dorms lay. “Well. We’ve already started sunwise from the dorms. May as well continue in that direction.”

“Lead on, then,” Braeden said with a nod.

In truth, the paths were wide enough that they were able to walk more or less together, especially since they were the only ones who seemed to be outright exploring. They discovered a set of playing fields, where two people were playing a form of tennis and a few more had begun a pick-up game of basketball. Other fields looked like they were for sports Slim had never even heard of, much less seen. M’err seemed particularly interested in one, which looked to Slim like a military training facility mixed with a mad scientist’s experiment gone horribly wrong.

“It’s a parrises squares court,” he said when Slim mentioned this. “You’ve never heard of it? It’s pretty popular. I had no idea Starfleet Academy had a team. I’ll have to find out when tryouts are.”

Slim grinned. “Well, if you get on the team, I’ll come see you play.”

They passed a number of academic buildings, although most of them were labeled by building names and not what was studied within their walls, unless you recognized the names. One building had a familiar symbol on the front—the caduceus—which Slim assumed was the medical building. Around midday they stumbled on another mess hall and stopped for lunch, then kept exploring.

“What’s that?” Sparky asked, pointing at what looked like a gigantic package bow stuck in the middle of a courtyard.

M’err turned towards it. “I don’t know. Let’s find out.”

As they drew closer, they realized it was a series of curved metal beams, square pillars twisted and bent outward, criss-crossing in parts so that it looked like a fireworks display. Slim counted nine altogether, all bearing signs of age and distress. They were also engraved all over. In the center was a stone flower, also carved all over.

Braeden walked over to a discreet plaque affixed to the ground. “It just says ‘Requiescat in Pace,’” he reported.

“‘Rest in Peace,’” Slim translated. “I guess this is a memorial of some kind.”

“To what, though?” M’err asked.

Sparky knelt down next to the nearest pillar. “U.S.S. _Hood?_ ” he read off. “I know that name. Why do I know that name?”

Slim froze, even as T’Mel answered, “To the best of my recollection, the _Hood_ was one of the ships destroyed shortly before the destruction of Vulcan.”

“It was,” Slim said, having trouble catching his breath. “There were nine altogether. Oh, God, these must be—”

He broke off and moved closer to the pillars. Up close, he could see that the engraving was a series of names, separated by a tiny etched Starfleet logo—the names of those lost aboard the vessels. He could also see that beneath the engraving, the pillars were burnt and scarred. These, then, had to be pieces of the actual ships, salvaged and returned to Earth for a memorial.

He reached out, hesitated, and then rested his fingertips against the metal, concentrating. Nothing came back, not that he’d really expected it to; after all, these ships were dead long ago. Instead, he found himself walking slowly amid the columns.

The other four, too, began wandering around, commenting on the names and pointing them out to one another. Slim scanned through the rows of names silently until he found the one he was looking for. It was just at the point where the metal curved outward, almost immediately above his head. He reached up to touch it with trembling fingers.

“What’d’ya find, TJ?” Sparky’s voice at his elbow was unexpected and made Slim flinch. The shorter boy peered up at the name. “Alice Johnson? That’s kind of a generic name, isn’t it? I mean, yeah, it’s the only time I’ve seen it on here, so maybe it’s a little unusual in that it’s so plain, but—”

“She was my mom,” Slim said softly. “I don’t really remember her—I was only two when she died. But she was on the _Farragut._ ”

Sparky got quiet. Slim stared at the name for a long moment, letting the few memories he had wash over him. A pair of sparkling green eyes, a face full of freckles, cinnamon-colored curls, and the smell of rose petals. A musical laugh, a gentle hand, a soft whisper. _Stay and be good—Mommy will be back soon. I love you, Treasure-Joy._ He kissed his fingertips, then reached up to press them to the sharply cut words.

“I love you, too, Mom,” he whispered.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who is wondering: In my mind, the stone flower described in the memorial is inscribed with the names of those who died aboard the _Enterprise._ They couldn't really use pieces of the ship, since she's still in commission, and besides, not so many people died; the idea in the sculptor's mind was that the flower represents the blooming of hope and all that.


	6. Just the Way I Planned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is so short, but I think it covered everything it needed to.
> 
> Title is from "Paint Me a Birmingham" by Tracy Lawrence. The song has nothing to do with this chapter, I just thought the line fit best.

_Cadet’s log, Stardate 2274.217. I sent my first subspace message—my first letter home to my family—after breakfast this morning. Normally I would have waited until I had been here for an entire week to do so, but I know they are probably anxious to hear from me. Besides, I wanted to make sure I sent them the picture of me in my cadet reds while I still have the right to wear them. I cannot help but worry that, any minute, someone will tell me it was all a mistake and send me away._

_~*~*~*~_

Slim compared the message on his PADD with the plaque on the door. There was no name, but the number matched the one he had been given, and, glancing at the chronometer set in the upper corner of the screen, he was precisely on time. Squaring his shoulders, he slipped the PADD into a pocket and knocked firmly on the door.

“Enter!” called a voice from within.

The door slid open with the swoosh with which Slim was intimately familiar, and he stepped over the threshold into a well-appointed office. Most of Starfleet Academy was done over in shades of grey and steel, a nearly monochrome angularness, but this room hearkened back to a gentleman’s study. It almost reminded Slim of Bela Okmyx’s office on Dana Iotia II. There was a plush red rug on the floor, a dark cherry-wood desk with a gleaming black top, and a simple lamp on the desk. The entire back wall was taken up with windows overlooking the campus and the lake, most of which was currently covered in a blanket of fog.

Sitting behind the desk was a broad-shouldered man in the same grey uniform the other instructors at the Academy wore, studying a PADD on his desk. He looked up as the door slid shut behind Slim. “Your name, Cadet?”

Slim resisted the urge to salute, but remained at attention. “Thomas Kirk, sir.”

“Kirk, Kirk…” The man scanned his PADD for a moment, then stopped. “Ah, here you are. Kirk, Thomas James, Engineering.” He stood and held out his hand. “Welcome to Starfleet Academy, Cadet. I’m Captain Kehinde Ayotola.”

“It’s good to meet you, Captain,” Slim said. He accepted Ayotola’s hand, smiling to himself at the feel of the calluses. This was no desk-bound admiral. This was a man who’d spent his life working with engines and mechanics.

“Likewise. Please, have a seat.” Ayotola gestured to a green leather-bound chair in front of the desk and waited for Slim to take his seat before doing the same.

Once they were both comfortable, Ayotola tapped the screen of his PADD. “I don’t know if they made this clear to you at orientation, but I will be your adviser throughout all four years you spend at Starfleet Academy. You will also be in several of my Engineering classes. I teach the entry-level course, as well as several of the more advanced courses.” He peered at Slim. “I note that your chosen minors are Piloting and Xenolinguistics. An interesting choice, especially for an engineer. What were your reasons?”

Slim swallowed. “Well, with the piloting, I thought it might help if I knew how to fly a shuttle, just in case I was on an away mission where we couldn’t use the transporters and the captain didn’t feel it necessary to send a pilot. As for Xenolinguistics…I already have a basic foundation in a few different languages, and I’ve seen how knowing even a few words here or there in the native tongue can turn a situation around. Might also help if the repair manual is written in something other than Standard.”

Ayotola laughed. “Good point. I note from your electives that you’re definitely interested in a well-rounded education. Why so much ballroom dance, though?”

“My godmother told me if I didn’t keep up with it, when she saw me next, she’d eat me,” Slim said ruefully.

“Is your godmother a Tellarite? A Klingon? An alligator?”

“No, sir, my godmother is Lieutenant Nyota Uhura, so I reckon she means it.” The words were out of Slim’s mouth before he could stop himself.

“Ah, yes.” Ayotola didn’t so much as blink. “I’ve heard my colleagues talk about her, and I don’t doubt you.” He looked down at the PADD again. “For physical training, you’ve been assigned to Commander Jaivyn Van Rooyen. He will also be in charge of your PT for the whole four years you’ll be here. Your sessions will be twice a week. You will also have your defense classes twice a week—not on the same days. I note that you’ve chosen to take…fencing?” He looked up with a small frown. “May I ask why?”

Slim licked his lips, despite the fact that he was trying his hardest not to show his nerves. “I promised Lieutenant Sulu I’d keep up with it while I was on Earth. Takin’— _taking_ the class seemed to be the best way of going about that.” Damn it all, now his accent was trying to come out.

Ayotola sighed with evident relief. “Good. You wouldn’t believe how many people have come through here thinking fencing was going to be like _The Princess Bride._ ” With a tap to the PADD, he added, “I assume that you were on a swim team at some point, too?”

“No, sir,” Slim said, a little bewildered as to why Ayotola would have assumed that until he remembered that he’d signed up for four semesters’ worth of swimming lessons. “I can’t hardly swim a stroke, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned over the last four years, it’s that _anything_ can happen on an away mission, and usually does. If I end up crash-landing in a lake, or accidentally get beamed into the middle of an ocean, I’m sh—I would be in serious trouble.”

“That is true, but why take more than one basic course, then?”

“To make sure I remember it from year to year.”

Hmm.” Ayotola tapped his stylus on the side of the PADD for a moment, then laid it aside and looked at Slim seriously. “All right, I believe we have adequately covered the academic portion of this interview. Now, on to the personal part.”

Slim swallowed hard. He had no idea what to expect here, but he managed, “Yes, sir.”

“You are third-generation Starfleet, is that correct?”

“Yes, sir. As far as I know,” Slim added. He knew about his grandparents, of course, but he had no idea if either George or Winona Kirk had had any antecedents in Starfleet. “Second-generation on my mother’s side.”

Ayotola lifted an eyebrow. “I was under the impression that you had two fathers.”

Slim shook his head. “I call him Pa, but he’s my stepfather. My dad and my mom had a one-night stand their first year at the Academy, and he never knew about me until a little more than four years ago. She was on the _Farragut._ Anyway, Pa’s first-generation Starfleet, too, so I’ve got it coming and going.”

“I see your point.” Ayotola drummed his fingers against the desktop for a moment, during which Slim forced himself to sit perfectly still and not react. At last, Ayotola sighed and sat back, steepling his fingers. “Cadet Kirk…I want to make one thing perfectly clear right now. I don’t give a damn about _who_ your father is, or who your grandfather was, or who _anybody_ in your family might be. As far as I am concerned, you are simply one of hundreds of cadets in my department. Don’t expect any special treatment from me.”

Slim felt as though a weight he hadn’t even been aware of had lifted off his shoulders. “No, sir,” he said gratefully. “I’m real glad to hear you say that. I aim to pull my weight.”

Ayotola’s face broke into a wide grin. “We’ll get along just fine.”

 


	7. Gonna Find My Feet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay! Weekend got away from me. Also, I think I restarted this chapter seven times before I finally hit the right note.
> 
> Chapter title is from "Down at the Twist and Shout" by Mary Chapin Carpenter.

_Cadet’s log, Stardate 2274.219. Starfleet Academy takes up a great deal more space than the_ Enterprise, _but there is a great deal less to do, especially this week. Truthfully, at the moment I’m beginning to go a little bit stir-crazy. It’s time to see what San Francisco has to offer beyond the Academy gates._

_~*~*~*~_

Apart from the area immediately around the apartment complex Jim and Leo had lived in, Slim’s entire knowledge of San Francisco came from those novels he’d read set there. And since most of those were from the twenty-first century—or earlier—he wasn’t prepared to use any of them as a guidebook, except in the vaguest sense. Still, there wasn’t anything left for him to discover at Starfleet Academy—not until classes began, at any rate—and he was itching to know more about the area he’d be spending the next four years in. Like most of the cadets from off-world, he was a bit far from home to visit in the summers, even if his home was somewhere he _could_ visit.

T’Mel, unsurprisingly, declared that she would remain on campus; the Vulcan cadets had already gotten up some kind of regular meeting, and she intended to go and discuss logic and current events with them. More surprising was that M’err decided not to leave campus, either, but told the other three to have fun before retreating to his dorm room.

“I think he’s self-conscious about wandering around San Francisco just yet,” Braeden said softly. “I mean, gigantic anthropomorphic cats aren’t exactly native to the area.”

“I dunno. I’ve heard stories.” Sparky flashed them both a grin. “But, okay, he can stay in if he wants to. Let’s go see what the city has to offer. Maybe we can find someplace to get you some new clothes, Brae.”

Braeden flushed and looked down at his feet. He’d come to Starfleet Academy with less to his name than Slim had had when he was still getting passed around in the foster care system. Slim patted his shoulder. “That, at least, shouldn’t be a problem. C’mon.”

While Starfleet Academy was generally referred to as being “in San Francisco,” technically speaking it was just outside the city. There was an express shuttle that ran from the Academy to link up with the city transit lines, but only on weekends, which—according to the sign at the shuttle stop—meant Saturdays and Sundays. That left Slim and his friends with two options: hire private transportation, or hoof it.

Since the sun had finally burned away most of the fog, they decided to walk into the city.

Their journey led them across the Golden Gate Bridge, a marvel of twentieth-century engineering that all three cadets had been eager to see. Sparky, who was armed with a camera, took several shots of the bridge as they got closer, then took a picture of the span as they stood at the entrance. “Hang on, I want a shot of the two of you in front of this,” he said, waving at the route. “Like a perspective kind of thing. Please?”

Slim and Braeden glanced at each other and shrugged, then posed as Sparky had requested, grinning with the wind plucking at their hair and the smell of salt in their noses. Once Sparky was satisfied, they set out to cross the bridge.

Halfway across they stopped. Braeden’s eyes were wide, his lips parted slightly in amazement as he stared out at the water. Slim, too, was impressed with the glittering span, traversed by watercraft of all sizes, from huge shipping scows to tiny one-man personal craft. The sun glinted off the water, turning it to liquid gold, and far below, it swirled and churned against the pylons. A rocky island topped with a square building in the distance had to be Alcatraz.

“It’s so beautiful,” Braeden said softly. “I’ve never seen so much water in one place before.”

“Me, neither,” Slim admitted. “Didn’t really get much of a chance to wander around San Francisco when I was here before.”

Sparky nodded absently. “Where are you from, Braeden? Originally, I mean.”

Braeden flinched—a barely noticeable wince, but definitely there. “Arizona. Desert country. What about you, TJ?”

“Oklahoma. Pretty notoriously landlocked. I’ve seen a lake or two, but…” Slim shook his head, still somewhat awed at the panorama before him.

Finally, reluctantly, they tore themselves away from the view and kept walking. They weren’t the only ones out. Two women in Lycra body suits jogged past them, pushing running strollers and chatting as they kept pace with one another, and a man walked by holding upwards of a dozen different dogs on rainbow-colored leashes. On the other side of the bridge, a half-dozen people rode past on bicycles, keeping in a tight formation. But for the most part, the bridge seemed fairly deserted.

“Where is everybody?” Sparky wondered.

“Work?” Slim guessed. “Maybe school? It _is_ the middle of the afternoon on a Friday, after all. Just ‘cause we ain’t started doesn’t mean nobody has.”

“Yeah, true.”

Between their stop and the fact that they were moving slowly, taking their time and taking everything in, it took them nearly an hour to get to the other side. The first thing they saw was the tall, austere facade of Starfleet headquarters, a grey monolith standing sentinel over the city, the barrier between the Academy and the city. They had to skirt around it to get to the transit stop. Several uniformed officials were bustling around, darting between buildings or heading for the parking lot.

Sparky let out a low whistle. “Think we’ll be working here someday?”

“I won’t,” Slim said decidedly. He remembered his grandmother’s words of caution, shortly after he’d met her—before either of them had known who the other was. “I’m joinin’ Starfleet to be an engineer, not to be ridin’ a desk. I’d rather cut off my balls with a rusty soup spoon than join the slide rule brigade.”

Braeden choked on what might have been a laugh. Sparky just looked confused. “Wait, what’s a slide rule?”

Slim did his best to repeat the explanation Jim had given him, once upon a time, as they made their way past headquarters. Sparky didn’t look any less puzzled when he was finished. “If nobody uses those anymore, why would you call them that?”

“Dad used that phrase. But I think that’s kind of why,” Slim explained. “They’re all so out of touch with reality, really—it’s been so long since any of ‘em were anywhere near the stars that they’ve forgotten what space is actually like. And stuff ain’t the same as it was then, either, but you can’t tell half of ‘em that. So they’re makin’ decisions based on the galaxy they knew twenty years ago. Never mind what’s happenin’ now.”

“Good point,” Sparky admitted. “Okay, then, someone more familiar with public transportation than me is going to have to explain what we do now, because I grew up on Kappa D and the only time I ever left the mining camp was to take the entrance exam.”

Braeden shook his head. “Don’t look at me. My town wasn’t big enough for a bus system or anything.”

Slim sighed. “I ain’t ever used it, either, but I reckon it can’t be that hard to figure out.”

It wasn’t. It turned out that this station had exactly one train line going through it, which stopped at several places that connected to other lines. Slim, Sparky, and Braeden caught the next shuttle coming through and rode it until the third stop along the route, which had the most outgoing lines. From there…they had options.

Luckily, there was a map showing not only the routes, but general points of interest along each of them. After a few minutes of discussion of the various pros, cons, and avenues of attack, they came up with a plan for the rest of the day and hopped on a train that would take them into the heart of the city.

Twenty minutes later, they got off at an underground station and rode an escalator up to a row of shops with flashy, highly noticeable signs and wares proudly displayed in the windows. There were a lot more people down here, going in and out of the shops and shoving their way up and down the sidewalks, none of them taking any notice of the three cadets gawking around them. Probably they saw a lot of gawking newcomers, between the influx of students—there were at least four colleges in San Francisco—and the near-constant flood of tourists.

Slim discreetly positioned Braeden so that he was in the middle of their little group. “Let’s see what’s down this way. There’s gotta be somethin’ on this stretch that’ll suit you, Brae.”

Braeden flushed. “Well…we can look, at least.”

The shops ran the gambit from high fashion to grunge to specialty shops. Slim made note of a dancewear shop in case he outgrew his dancing shoes or needed them repaired, but didn’t go in. Quite a number of muscle-bound individuals were in one store that seemed to sell sportswear and equipment. Sparky’s attention was caught by a store with a lot of glitter in the window, but they didn’t go in.

Towards the south end of the street, not far before it opened up into a confusing snarl of offices and other businesses, Braeden’s feet stuttered as they passed a shop. Slim slowed to a stop and turned to look at him. “What’s up?”

“Nothing, it’s just—” Braeden hesitated, glancing at the window display. “Nothing. We can keep wandering.”

Slim studied the display. It appeared that the shop was a western-wear shop; both mannequins were dressed in jeans, work shirts, and boots. “You a cowboy fan?”

Braeden flushed, looking down at his feet. “Yeah, I—I always liked this kind of stuff. It looks—I mean, the real stuff looks durable, you know? Hard-wearing. And comfortable. When we lived on Earth, I took riding lessons, and—I kind of always wanted to own a ranch someday. But it’s—I mean, I like engineering, too, so I figured I’d do that instead. Maybe I’ll retire to a ranch someday. But it’s—the clothes are cool.”

“Well, come on, then,” Sparky said cheerfully. “You’re going to want at least two more outfits, right? Even if we’re spending most of our time in our reds, there’ll be downtime, and you’ll want more than two shirts and one pair of jeans for that.”

The red in Braeden’s cheeks deepened. “I don’t—I mean, I dunno—”

“C’mon, Brae,” Slim coaxed. “Let’s at least go in and look around.”

Braeden hesitated a moment longer, then gave in. “Yeah, okay.”

The smell of leather assaulted them the minute they walked into the shop. Slim could see that the entire back wall was given over to boots, and a rack of belts of varying widths hung towards the front. Rows of leather jackets—some fringed, some not—hung along the left wall; the right wall seemed to be mostly hats. Racks of shirts and jeans hung all over the floorspace.

A smiling man in a blue-and-white checked shirt and stonewashed jeans came up to them. “Afternoon, boys. Anything I can help y’all with?”

Slim tugged his bangs respectfully. “Afternoon, sir. We’re kinda new in town, an’ my friend here ain’t prepared for it. He needs some new threads.”

The man’s smile broadened. His nametag red AL. “Where are you from, son?”

“I’m from Oklahoma, originally,” Slim answered. “He’s from Arizona, by way of Kappa Draconis II.”

“True westerners. Nice to meet ya.” Al clapped Braeden on the shoulder. “You know your sizes?”

“Uh—no, sir, but—” Braeden looked flustered.

“No worries. Tell you what. Let’s measure you up, an’ I’ll bring you a few things to try. Your friends here c’n help you decide which ones you like, how’s that?” Without waiting for an answer, Al escorted Braeden towards the fitting rooms.

Slim and Sparky amused themselves for a few minutes by trying on hats while Al was busy with Braeden. The clerk came out after a few minutes and bustled around the store, picking out outfits. He stopped just behind them, his arms laden down with jeans and shirts, and shook his head at Slim in the mirror. “The tan don’t work with your colorin’, son. Try a brown.”

Sparky snickered as Al walked away. “Like you’re actually considering buying one.”

“I am, actually.” Slim replaced the hat he’d been trying on and found a dark brown one with a turquoise baguette framed in silver in the front, anchoring the hat band in place. He settled it on his head, fussed with the fit for a minute, then looked at himself in the mirror. Al was right—it suited his coloring much better. “I kind of like this one.”

“It does look good on you,” Sparky conceded.

Slim was about to check the price when Al called across the store, “Boys, c’mere a minute. Let’s have your opinions.”

Sparky and Slim spent the next several minutes examining and critiquing as Braeden stepped out of the dressing room in a variety of outfits. One of them got a low whistle out of Sparky, which made Braeden blush and Slim elbow his friend in the ribs. Another they all agreed looked better on the hanger than on Braeden.

Finally, Al nodded. “Right. The red-and-gold and the green-and-black for sure. The lighter jeans, an’ I think you boys are right, the skinny legs suit him best. Two pairs.”

Braeden turned bright red. “Sir, I—I can’t afford all this. I don’t—”

“Jeans and one shirt are on the house, son, ‘cause these boys is right, you ain’t ready for a San Fran fall, let alone the winter,” Al told him. “Federation law. You only have to pay for the other.”

Slim caught the desperate look in Braeden’s eyes—and suddenly he understood. He cleared his throat. “Actually, sir, I’m payin’. It’s—it’s a birthday present.”

“My birthday was three months ago,” Braeden mumbled.

“Brae, shut up an’ take the gift.”

Al walked up to Braeden and removed the tags from the shirt and jeans. “I’ll bag the other things up for you. Now, was there anythin’ else you boys wanted?”

“Just a sec.” Slim headed back over to the hat rack and checked the tag on the hat. “Yeah, I’d like this hat, too, please.”

“Good choice.” Al beamed. “Oh—tell me, do you boys have jackets? Gets pretty chilly ‘round here, especially in the fall.”

Slim shook his head. “I’ve got a couple sweaters. I’m good.”

“You need somethin’ thicker ‘n that, son. And you boys?”

“Not really,” Sparky answered. Braeden shook his head, looking embarrassed.

“Right, then all three of you need jackets. C’mere, I’ll show y’all the standard-issue collection.”

Fifteen minutes later, they walked back out onto the street. Braeden wore his new jeans and the green-and-black flannel shirt. Slim had donned his new hat. Al had promised to send their other selections, along with the box for Slim’s hat, to their dormitories at Starfleet Academy right away, which meant they didn’t have to carry them around all night.

“Thank you,” Braeden said softly. “For the shirt. For talking me into going in there. I—I feel a lot better in clothes that fit me right.”

“You look a lot better, too,” Sparky said, elbowing him gently in the ribs. “C’mon, let’s go eat. I’m starving.”

“ _There’s_ a shocker,” Slim said with a teasing grin.

They walked a few more blocks, then found a deli outside the next train station that smelled good. Once they had eaten, they hopped on the train heading in the general direction of Starfleet Academy. Their destination—for the moment, anyway—was a bit farther north, however.

The sun was setting, turning the skies a brilliant red and cooling the air, when they stepped out of the station onto the street. Businesses were switching on their lights, small spotlights that illuminated doorways and neon letters spelling out names: Baxby’s, Flipper McCoy’s, The Crave, Night at the Iguana. People of all ages, in all different types of attire, began to throng the street, drawn towards this building or that. It was Friday—a true Friday—and people were out to party.

Braeden looked around him uneasily. “I dunno about this, guys,” he mumbled. “This looks…like it could turn bad awfully quickly.”

“How bad could it be? They’re just places to hang out and dance, right?” Sparky said with a shrug.

Slim slung an arm around his friend’s shoulders. “We’ll stick right by you, okay, Brae? An’ if it gets to be too much, we c’n cut out early. We don’t even have to go in any of ‘em if none of ‘em look good. How’s that?”

Braeden took a deep breath and leaned into Slim for a moment before straightening up. “Okay. As long as you promise not to leave me by myself.”

“Cross my heart an’ hope to cry,” Slim said with a wink and a tip of his hat. That got a laugh, albeit a weak one, out of Braeden.

It was easy to guess, as they walked, what kind of clubs lay behind most of the windowless facades, just by the types of people who were going into them. Flipper McCoy’s turned out to be an arcade—it was one of the few with windows, so they could see the games flashing to attract suckers—but they walked by it. A group of women in very short skirts and very high heels swept past them and into Night at the Iguana as they passed it. There was a long line to get into Club Electric, with two bouncers on the door; Slim couldn’t explain the vibe he got off some of the people in that line, but he found himself quickening his steps and hustling Braeden along protectively. Sparky looked slightly confused, but Braeden shot him a grateful look as they cleared the club.

Three buildings further down, on the other side of the street, Slim saw a sign in red and white block letters that made his heart lift. “Hey, that’s Rooster’s!”

“I take it you know the place?” Braeden said softly, glancing towards it.

“I’ve heard of it. Kelly an’ Nico used to go a couple times a month for line dance lessons.” The S flickered briefly. “So did Dad an’ Pa. It’s a country-western club.”

“What country?” Sparky frowned. “And western—like your clothes?”

Braeden and Slim looked at each other, then started across the street without another word, Sparky trailing along after them.

The club’s floor was polished wood, with a stage at the back, a DJ booth in one corner, and a number of round tables scattered around an open dance floor. A cheerful woman in a denim dress met them where the hall opened up to the club. “Howdy! Y’all here for the line dance lessons?”

Her accent was definitely fake, but Slim touched the brim of his hat politely. “Yes, ma’am, we’d like that right well.”

“Right over there, sugar.”

Sparky rolled his eyes as they headed into the club, but Slim just grinned—especially when he recognized the song playing over the loudspeaker. “This is gonna be a good night, y’all.”

 


	8. And I Shut My Mouth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one's so short, guys, but I don't want to keep dragging out scenes unnecessarily.
> 
> Chapter title is from "Song of the South" by Alabama.

_Cadet’s Log, Stardate 2274.221. We made a point of spending the majority of the day together, as beginning tomorrow, we will not see much of one another. Between the “boot camp” for command cadets and the bonding exercises the rest of us will be doing with gods-know-who, the next few days are going to be rather chaotic._

_~*~*~*~_

“Slim! Slim Johnson, is that you?”

Slim turned in surprise, both at the name and the voice, which sounded almost familiar. He broke into a broad grin when he saw who had just come through the door of their dorm building. “Rob Minifee, as I live an’ breathe!”

They’d been eleven the last time they’d seen each other, two small, spindly boys on the verge of puberty with fingers callused from farm work and skin browned from time in the sun who’d shared more than just a bedroom. But Rob had been the first person to ever call Slim a friend—the _only_ person, until he’d boarded the _Enterprise_ —and Slim would have known him anywhere.

Rob came at him, arms flung out wide and a grin splitting his face in two. Slim met him halfway with a bear hug that made both of them grunt. Oddly enough, they were still roughly the same size, despite the fact that they’d both gotten taller and broader in the past seven years. Still…“You grew another foot since I saw you last.”

“Nope, still just got two of ‘em,” Rob said, wrinkling his nose. Slim gave a mock-groan and shoved away from the hug. “I can’t believe it. _Slim Johnson._ ”

“John—oh, right, that was your mom’s name,” Braeden said from over by the lift.

Slim turned apologetically towards Braeden. “Sorry, Brae, didn’t mean to ignore you…Rob, this is Braeden Rocheford, we met while we were takin’ the entrance exams. Brae, this is Robert Minifee, he was my foster brother.”

“Nice to meet you,” Rob told Braeden with a crooked grin.

Braeden smiled back. “Any friend of TJ’s…”

“You’re goin’ by TJ these days?” Rob asked, lifting his eyebrows at Slim.

“Well, I ain’t exactly slim anymore,” Slim replied, gesturing vaguely at his torso. He was still having trouble adjusting to the name change, though—he guessed it would be a few more months before he could start consistently thinking of himself as TJ.

“True,” Rob allowed. “An’ your last name ain’t Johnson anymore, neither? Dude, did you get adopted finally?”

“Better.” Slim couldn’t help the grin that crept over his face. “CPS found my dad.”

Rob let out a yell of delight that echoed off the walls of the atrium and made Braeden wince. He quickly curtailed it and caught Slim up in another bruising hug. “That’s great! What’s your name now, then?”

Slim laughed and disentangled himself. “It’s Kirk.”

“Slim Kirk. No, _TJ_ Kirk. I swear I’ll get that down.” Rob nodded. “It suits you. Wait, Kirk? Like Winona Kirk?”

Braeden’s eyebrows shot up. “ _That’s_ the first Kirk that comes to mind?”

“Hey, I’m a farmer. Xenobotany is important. Yeah, her son’s pretty famous an’ so was her husband, but she’s the first one I think of. She any relation of yours?”

“My grandmother,” Slim admitted. “She’s pretty awesome. An’ yeah, Captain James T. Kirk is my dad.”

Rob looked impressed for a moment. Then a look of concern crossed his face. “Sorry, won’t bring it up again. I reckon you’re gonna get a lot of that. Don’t wanna add to it.”

“I appreciate that, Rob.” Slim glanced up at the lifts. “Say, where’s your room?”

“A112, fifth floor, room 5115,” Rob answered. “You?”

“A1 _10,_ fifth floor, room 5115,” Slim said ruefully. “Tell you what—you probably wanna get up an’ get yourself set up. Want to meet us for breakfast in the mornin’? We can catch up then.”

“Sounds great.” Rob hugged Slim again. “Good to see you again, Slim. _Really_ good. Nice to meet you, Brae,” he added. “’Night, y’all.”

“’Night, Rob,” Slim said.

“’Night,” Braeden echoed softly.

They waved and headed into the lifts. Slim glanced apologetically at Braeden as they headed for the fifth floor. “Hope you don’t mind me invitin’ him to breakfast an’ all.”

Braeden shook his head. “Like I said, any friend of yours is a friend of mine. He seems like a nice guy.”

“He is. Definitely one of the better foster families I was ever in.”

Rob’s appearance reminded Slim that the cadets from Earth had arrived earlier that day. He and his friends had spent most of the day in the Kelvin Memorial Gardens, so they hadn’t seen any of them, but not only would the bonding exercises start the next morning, their roommates would be arriving that night. Slim half-wondered if his roommate would already be there when he got in, but the room was still devoid of life. The only addition was the bag that had been set on the bed nearer the door, which he presumed to be his new roommate’s.

He couldn’t help but grin at the seabag.

A quick trip to the bathroom to brush his teeth, then Slim went back to his room to change into his pajamas before climbing up to sit on his bed. His back resting against the wall and his knees pulled up to his chest, he picked up his PADD and began to read. He wasn’t sure exactly how long he sat there, but he’d gotten through about five chapters when he heard the door swoosh open.

He looked up, a welcoming smile on his face for who he assumed was his roommate. The other boy didn’t smile back, though. He merely nodded at Slim, sending a cascade of dark brown hair swinging across his eyes before brushing it back quickly, then headed over to the bed and reached for his seabag.

Slim licked his lips briefly, then took a deep breath before speaking. “I’ve got my stuff in the wardrobe and dresser in the left. Other one’s empty.”

“Thanks,” the other boy mumbled. He squared his shoulders and tossed his hair back out of his eyes again, then turned to look at Slim. “Margolis.”

He pronounced the name with the emphasis on the second syllable and a long E sound on the last syllable, which made Slim glad he’d said it out loud; in his own mind, he’d been stressing the first syllable and pronouncing the last with a short I. “Kirk,” he said in reply.

Margolis nodded and went back to his unpacking. Slim waited a few minutes, but that was the end of the conversation. Ostensibly, he returned to his book, but really he was watching Margolis unpack.

It was a shame that they appeared to be on a last-name basis only, because from what Margolis pulled out of his seabag, he and Slim probably would’ve gotten on really well. The few outfits he put in the drawers were similar to Slim’s in style and color; his stack of PADDs was nearly as big as Slim’s, and he, too, had a single picture that he put on his nightstand, showing him with a little boy who didn’t look much older than Addie. After a few minutes, he tucked his seabag under the bed just as Slim had, then grabbed his pajamas, a towel, and a small bag of toiletries. He started for the door, paused for just a second, and then continued on without another word.

Slim kept reading, wondering if he was doing right by keeping his mouth shut and waiting for Margolis to speak first. It was possible that Margolis was doing the same thing, but even four years on the _Enterprise_ hadn’t broken Slim of his fear of being too presumptuous, of putting himself too far forward. He would sooner face down a horde of Klingons than speak if he wasn’t sure it would be wanted.

Half an hour later, Margolis came back into the room wearing plaid flannel pajamas, with his hair plastered wetly to his head. He glanced briefly in Slim’s direction before climbing onto his own bed and pulling out a PADD.

They read in silence for another twenty minutes, until Slim could feel his eyelids drooping. He steeled himself and turned the PADD off, then twisted around to set it on the nightstand, prepared to take the risk of asking Margolis if he’d mind if they shut off the lights and went to bed.

Only to see that Margolis was doing the exact same maneuver.

Their eyes met across the bedroom. Margolis ducked his head, obviously embarrassed, but he gave Slim a little half-smile that lifted his spirits. Maybe they’d be friends after all. He couldn’t help but return the smile.

“Lights, one percent,” he said. The lights obediently dimmed down to the barest minimum, about what the room would have been if it had windows and there was no moon—just enough that they’d be able to see if they needed to get up in the middle of the night for whatever reason, but not enough that it would disturb their slumber. He crawled under his covers and heard the sounds across the room of Margolis doing the same.

“Good night, Kirk,” Margolis said softly.

“Good night, Margolis,” Slim said, careful to pronounce it exactly the way his roommate had.

He was just barely able to make out the hint of a smile on Margolis’ face before sleep claimed them both.

 


	9. A Few Cards and Letters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I have a legitimate excuse for not posting this one yesterday...the power in our neighborhood was out for almost twenty-four hours, and even when they got it back on, it took our internet a while to stop sulking about how long it had been sitting there not getting electricity. (Our internet likes to sulk.) My mom was complaining for about half of it about how the power company had JUST replace all of our power lines with underground lines so this kind of thing wouldn't happen and "so much for THAT!" Turns out the strong winds on Friday blew over a tree, which took out the transformers for the neighborhood.
> 
> Anyway, power's back now! Yay! :D
> 
> Chapter title is from "Strawberry Wine" by Deanna Carter, and again that song in general has no relevance to this chapter. It's just that I already used "Letters from Home" in Had He Known It and didn't want to repeat. Slim's line in his cadet's log is a reference to _Pirates!_ by Celia Rees ("William? Every other tar's called William").

_Cadet’s log, Stardate 2274.224. So far I have met at least half of the Engineering cadets and at least seen the other half, even if I haven’t heard their names yet. Not that I can keep more than a dozen of them straight. Seems like every other one is called Williams._

~*~*~*~

After two and a half solid days of team-building exercises, wacky scavenger hunts, getting-to-know-you games, and a complicated marshmallow fight that sent thirty-seven people to the medical wing with rubber band-related injuries, the cadets were given two hours off with the most bizarre instructions they had received yet: During the entire time period, they were not allowed to say one word to anyone other than staff members.

Slim contemplated going back to his room. Even if Margolis was there, it wouldn’t matter; they’d barely spoken since their initial introduction, and they obviously weren’t in the same division, since Margolis hadn’t been among the Engineering cadets Slim had spent the last couple of days with. Before he could start back that way, though, a message popped up on his PADD. [ _You have FOUR (4) communications awaiting you in the Cadet Mail Room._ ]

His spirits lifted. Erikson had explained during their orientation that the small PADDs they used on campus were good for short-range communication, but couldn’t hook up to send or receive messages from beyond the walls of the campus. Anything of that nature had to be compressed onto a datachip and delivered to the mail room, whereupon it would be sent out via subspace relay; incoming mail would be downloaded onto similar datachips and could be retrieved at any time. And any communications for Slim could only have come from one place.

The _Enterprise._

He hurried to the mail room and walked up to the counter, where a bearded man sat filing his nails. “Can I help you?” the man asked, sounding bored.

“Yes, sir, my name is Thomas Kirk,” Slim answered, touching his forehead respectfully. “I got a message that I had some communications waiting for me.”

“Identification code?”

Slim rattled off the ten-digit sequence he had already memorized. Each cadet was assigned one when they joined Starfleet, and it would be their identification number for the entire time they were in Starfleet. Most of the time, you just swiped your PADD if you needed to be identified somewhere that didn’t have biometric scanners, but there were still a few places around campus where you had to manually input your ID number, just to get you memorizing it eventually.

It had taken Slim about seventy seconds, not that he was bragging.

The man behind the counter punched Slim’s ID code into his computer. A mechanical arm popped out of the side of his desk, zipped over to a wall, and retrieved a datachip, which it then brought to the man. The man handed it to Slim. “Here you are, Cadet.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Slim replied. The man looked mildly surprised, then actually smiled before going back to filing his nails.

This time, Slim had to head back to his room; there wasn’t anywhere to insert a datachip onto his campus-issued PADD, so he’d have to use one of the ones he’d brought with him. As he’d sort of half expected, Margolis was there, sitting on his bed with his shoes off and his feet crossed at the ankles, reading something. He looked up briefly and gave Slim a quick nod, which Slim returned, before going back to his book. At least, Slim assumed it was a book. For all he knew, he’d gotten a letter from home, too, even though it had only been a couple days for him.

Slim picked up the PADD with all his photos on it and popped the datachip into the correct slot. There was a soft beep, then a green light flashed briefly as the PADD scanned the contents. At last, the light faded and a display popped up, showing the four files.

The file names were all just random combinations of letters and numbers generated by the subspace relay, no way to identify the contents, so Slim tapped on the first one to open it and began to read.

_Dear Slim,_

_Thank you so much for your letter. Your dad never said much, but I could tell he was worrying about you from the minute that door shut behind you. We were both glad to hear that you were doing all right._

_Orientation doesn’t sound like it’s changed much from when we went through it, to be honest, but we’re glad you had fun. And yes, it’s definitely an advantage to know at least some things—like how to use the food slots. Also, your dad wants to make sure you know that they’re going to continue to try and confuse you for quite a while. It never really stops. Over time, you just learn to roll with it._

_Your four-year plan sounds solid. Your dad and your godmother are both thrilled that you’re minoring in Xenolinguistics—did you know that was your father’s non-Command major? I think you were insane to choose Piloting as a minor, but that’s just because I’m still not very fond of them. I’m definitely pleased you’re planning to learn to swim properly, though. I’d like to be sure you’re going to be safe in case of an unexpected water landing. And I know Addie will be pleased that you’ve kept up with your dancing. Actually, I think quite a few people on the ship will be._

_We’ve downloaded the picture you sent us and set it up on the shelf next to the model of the_ Enterprise _you made us for our anniversary. Dammit, kid, I can’t believe how grown-up you look. I know you’re eighteen and all that, but it’s still hard to believe you’re not the little boy we met almost five years ago. You were born to wear a Starfleet uniform, and it suits you well. You still need a damn haircut, though._

_Things have been pretty much the same as always since you left. We left Starbase Six and stopped to make a routine planetary survey of a Class M planet two solar systems away. Sensors indicated no life forms, which we all thought was weird. The survey party found evidence that there had been fauna and possibly people on the planet at one time, but we had no indications of what might have killed them. Turned out there was a plant that was slowly taking over the forest—kind of like kudzu with big purple flowers—that periodically released clouds of spores that Sulu and I have dubbed “sex pollen” for lack of a better term. You can guess what the effect was. We’re pretty sure now that most of the life on the planet either died from sexual exhaustion, insomuch as that’s actually a thing, or from being so busy “mating” that they didn’t take time to eat. The landing party was extremely fortunate not to have more lasting effects. And that is all I will say on the matter._

_Other than that, it’s been a fairly uneventful couple of weeks. Your dad got an official apology from Starfleet Command about Nylund and all that crap, which he’s pretty uncomfortable about but accepted. Scotty misses having you around in Engineering, but things are staying together for the most part. Addie saw the allergist on Starbase Six before we left, and it turns out she’s allergic to bananas, coconut, and celery, of all things. V’Las obtained permission to stay on the_ Enterprise _for a while longer, at least until we’re next in the vicinity of the_ Intrepid. _Everyone else is pretty much the same as always._

_We’re still meandering our way back to the Sol sector. We’re not sure yet where the_ Enterprise _will be docking—if she’ll be refit in the spacedocks near Earth or further out—but we’ll see. She’s definitely due for a refit, though. There’s talk of creating actual family quarters and bringing in up to a half-dozen actual families with children, in order to get a bigger sample size than just Addie and Jame. Your records of your time on the ship certainly seem to have made a good impression with the brass._

_I hope your week of “bonding” has gone well, and I wish you well when classes begin next week. Write back soon and tell us all about it._

_Love always,_

_Pa (and Dad)_

That was so like his pa, Slim thought fondly—a mix of dry humor and solid wisdom. It gave him a warm, fuzzy feeling—like his stepfather was right there with him. He clicked on the next one, which was much shorter. It wasn’t hard to guess who had written it, or at least dictated it.

_Dear Slim,_

_I miss you lots. I don’t like you being so far away and not being here when I have bad dreams or want to tell you something exciting. Daddy says I can tell you all about it in letters, but it’s not the same._

_Daddy and Papa read me_ The Princess Bride. _It was a good book. I would have liked it better if you had read it to me. I want to read the whole book, though. Why did they cut it up? I don’t think that’s fair. I want to know the whole story, not just the parts that the man thinks I should like. Will you read me the whole thing when you come home?_

_I am learning to read and write better. Zizi Nico is helping me, and so is Lieutenant Rahaim. Lieutenant Rahaim is writing this for me, though. I can’t write good enough to write you all by myself yet._

_I counted all the stars I could last night. I counted a hundred and forty-two. But then I fell asleep, so I didn’t finish. How many more stars are there to count? Do they teach you that at the Academy?_

_I really, really miss you. Will you come see me when they’re fixing the ship? Daddy says we might not be able to come see you because we might be too far away, but you’ll come see me, won’t you?_

_I love you lots. Write back soon._

_Love you to the moon,_

_Addie._

Slim didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He glanced at the picture on his nightstand, fixing his sister’s face into his memory, trying to hold onto the sound of her voice, the feel of her arms around his neck. Dammit, he missed her, too. He was just glad they’d made up before he left. At least she was sending him letters.

He made a mental note to write to Rahaim next time to thank her for helping Addie, then tapped back to open the third.

_Dear Slim,_

_We were so surprised to get a letter from you directly—we both assumed you would just tell the captain and Dr. McCoy to tell us hi or something. Thank you so much for the direct letter! It meant a lot to us._

_We are doing all right. Jame took her first steps this morning, from my lap to Nico’s. Addie was almost as excited as we were. Jame just grinned at all of us. She’s so good-natured. We took her to the allergist on Starbase Six, and it turns out she is allergic to bananas—Dr. McCoy was right about that. Nico is still beating xemself up for not knowing, but really, banana allergies aren’t all that common. Other than that, she’s perfectly healthy and perfectly normal. She’s been singing along with Addie, and for a thirteen-month-old toddler, she’s got an amazing voice. (I refuse to speculate on whether or not she gets it from…her godly parent.)_

_You are…very definitely missed in Engineering. Especially without Porter being there, too. We had a small mishap last shift, nothing too serious, but it was definitely someplace where we missed having you around to help. I think Rahaim ran through every cuss word she knows in three languages before we got things stabilized. She told Audra and me later that she was grateful Ramadan was long over before you left the ship, because she needs to swear more often when you’re not around to help._

_Other than that, things are…things. Aleksandr won a game of Fizzbin yesterday and had to go lie down for an hour. Someone has been writing anonymous love poetry to Gaila, and we’re all pretty sure that it’s V’Las. Mr. Spock has been trying to teach Addie how to play tri-chess, and the rest of us keep having to leave the room to hide our laughter. Someone accidentally brought spores from a pervasive and highly aggressive native plant back from the last away mission we were on, and Sulu and Chekov spent the better part of two days wearing environmental suits trying to kill it and another day holed up in their quarters, two parts exhausted and three parts shell-shocked. They got rid of it, but it took half the greenhouse with it before it willingly gave up the ghost. Gods help us if the Klingons ever figure out how to weaponize this stuff…assuming it doesn’t kill them first._

_Have you been out on the town yet? Is Rooster’s still there? If you go in, tell Rosie that Billy and the Sundance Kid said hello. She’ll know what you mean._

_I’m sure, by the time you get this, you’ll be midway through your week of “bonding exercises” with the rest of the cadets. I hope it’s going well. Let me know what the fun activity is on Friday evening. It’s something different every year, apparently. Our class had a foam dance party._

_I’d better go; today was a long day and I’m dropping. Don’t forget about us—we haven’t forgotten about you._

_XOXO,_

_Kelly, Nico, and Jame._

This time, Slim couldn’t help but laugh softly. He picked up his school-issued PADD, pulled up the memo feature, and jotted down a note to pass on Kelly’s sentiments to the bartender the next time he was in Rooster’s. It wouldn’t be Friday, but it would probably be sooner rather than later, because they’d had a blast the previous week. Slim glanced over at Margolis, wondering if he should pass on the invitation, then put the thought out of his mind, at least for the moment.

He turned back to his PADD, and the last letter. There was no doubt in his mind who it was from. His hands trembled slightly as he tapped it open and began to read.

_Dear Slim,_

_I’m glad to hear you’re doing well. I always wondered what the offworld cadets did in the week between them getting to the Academy for the first time and the Earthbound cadets arrived. I should have figured it was mostly “explore.”_

_We all sat together in the lounge to read your first letters (so thank you for not making it too personal); we’ll probably keep the later ones more to ourselves now that we know you’re writing to everybody, but for the first one, we wanted to make sure we got the whole idea. I don’t know if anyone else told you or not, but your dad actually started crying when he saw your picture. I think it hit him hard. You look so…mature. (Apparently my expression was pretty priceless. Kelly’s been teasing me about it ever since.) But we were all glad to see your face again, and hear from you._

_I’m sure you got most of the rundown of the ship from everybody else. Pretty sure the demon weed of Katrovia Terce will go down in xenobotanical history. Either that or urban legend. Trust me, the report is one of those things you’d never believe if you weren’t there or witnessing the immediate after-effects. Or if you didn’t know what else kind of stuff goes on with this ship. Speaking of, she’s been a little cranky since you left. Nothing super serious—a drop in power fluctuations here, a loose bolt there, a hairline crack in a relatively nonessential bit of tubing somewhere else—just a lot more little repairs than I’ve seen in the whole mission put together. I mean, most likely it’s just that the whole M-5 fiasco strained her to near about her breaking point, but I still feel like she’s sulking because she misses having someone she can talk to directly. Mr. Scott understands her pretty well, but he isn’t tapped into her like you are._

_Everybody in Engineering sends their greetings. And I’m sure your pa and Kelly gave you the scoop on what the rest of our friends and family have been up to, so I’m not going to feel the slightest bit guilty about taking up the rest of this letter by talking about myself._

_I miss you, Slim. I don’t have too many friends, and you being away from the ship so soon after Port…but it isn’t just that. I miss you like I’ve never missed anyone before, and I need you to know that. I miss your face at the breakfast table and your voice coming up from the other side of the piece of equipment I’m working on. I miss the way your eyes light up when you’re working out a problem and the way your face goes childlike with wonder when you’re looking at the stars. I miss the warmth of your body next to mine when we’re watching a movie and the weight of your arm around my shoulders when we’re on the observation deck. I miss your patient smile when Addie goes off on a long, rambling story and your laugh when some new sucker gets flustered at the rules for Fizzbin. I miss watching you fence without a shirt on and watching you blush when you realize I’ve been watching you fence without a shirt on. I miss everything about you._

_And it’s only been a week! As I write this letter, you’ve only been gone for a week. These are going to be a very long four years. I—I briefly thought about going for an Earth-based position, at least until you graduate. But I think we both know I can’t do that. Doesn’t mean I don’t want to, though. I can hold out. I just wish we both didn’t have to. I wish the_ Enterprise _wasn’t on a five-year, that she was patrolling closer to Earth. Not that I don’t like exploring strange new worlds, discovering new life and new civilizations, and boldly going where no one has gone before. It’s just that it’s a lot harder knowing that you’re_ not _doing those things with us._

_I should probably stop before I depress both of us. Just know that I miss you like hell and I eagerly look forward to your next letter—almost as much as I look forward to seeing you again._

_I love you, Slim Kirk. Never forget that._

_Write back soon. I want to hear all about what you’re doing and your new friends. (And…if you wanted to get a little personal in the next letter, I wouldn’t mind.)_

_Always and forever,_

_Your Audra._

Slim swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. At the same time, he felt like his cheeks were on fire.

Without conscious thought, he tapped over to the photographs on the PADD and called up his absolute favorite picture of Audra. The _Enterprise_ had passed by the Pleione system about a month after Jim’s open-heart surgery, right after his fever had broken. Spock had all but ordered Slim to take time on the planet with his friends, and they’d ended up going for a hike to the lake where Slim had gone on a picnic with his family two years earlier. There’d been a storm rolling in over the hills, turning the skies purple and velvet blue. Slim had snapped a picture of Audra sitting on a log on the edge of the woods, her braid draped over her shoulder, staring up at the sky with her lips slightly parted and a look of awe on her face.

He stared at the picture for a long minute. After a moment, he brushed her face lightly with two fingers, then saved the letters to the PADD before wiping the datachip and popping it into his note PADD. Writing to everyone else could wait until the week was out, but he was going to start Audra’s letter right away.

As much as he missed his sister, his parents, his friends…he missed Audra even more.

 


	10. That's How We Do It 'Round Here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only ten chapters in, and I'm already missing updates. Well, I do kind of have an excuse; I was frantically trying to finish a couple of baby blankets for a baby shower on Thursday, and I've also been trying to finish the first draft of the novel I started in November before April. But either way, I'm sorry, and I hope you enjoy the chapter.

_Cadet’s Log, Stardate 2274.226. Our week of bonding ends tonight, with a party to be held on the main campus lawn, the nature of which has not been disclosed to us. As I have been told, it’s different every year. That has not, however, stopped people from speculating. I’m fairly certain that most of them are just being silly, as I cannot imagine any circumstances under which there would be an official Starfleet Academy Orgy._

_~*~*~*~_

Slim smelled the smoke long before he got to the grassy area outside campus.

Braeden evidently smelled it, too. He stuttered to a halt and grabbed Slim’s arm, his face pale. “Is something on fire?”

“It’s all right, Brae,” Slim assured him. “Smells like a bonfire to me.”

Actually, the biggest surprise was that it was only one bonfire. It was, however, enormous, big enough to accommodate dozens of cadets around it at once. Long tables were laid with rows of sticks and mounds of apples, hot dogs, and marshmallows. Others held tinfoil and an assortment of meats and raw vegetables. There were benches and logs scattered all over the lawn, some in little conversation areas and others close to the fire.

“Damn, if I’d known it was going to be like this, I’d’ve brought my Sit-Upon,” Braeden quipped.

“Never heard of it.”

“It’s…pretty much what it sounds like. Little cushions made out of old vinyl tablecloths and stuffed with newspapers or something so that you can sit on the ground while you’re camping and not get your butt wet and dirty. We made ‘em in Scouts.” Braeden shrugged, suddenly looking awkward. “I don’t…actually have one anymore.”

Slim laughed and clapped his friend on his back. “C’mon. Food first or try an’ find the others?”

“Food,” Braeden said. Was it Slim’s imagination, or did he sound relieved? “I don’t want to have to fight my way up later when I’m really hungry. Or risk Sparky having cleaned the tables out while our backs were turned.”

Most of the cadets were swarming around the tables with things to roast, but Slim and Braeden chose to set up what people still called “hobo packs,” vegetables and meat folded into tinfoil to be placed directly in the fire. Once Slim had his made up to his satisfaction, he started towards the rack of tools designed to push things into the fire and rake them out afterwards, but Braeden put out a hand to stop him.

Turning to the man standing near the tools, arms folded across his chest and looking bored, Braeden asked, “Permission to enter the fire circle?”

The man’s eyebrows shot up, and he grinned. Slim recognized the lieutenant from the mailroom. “Permission granted.”

Braeden stepped forward. Taking his cue from his friend, Slim also asked and received permission, then joined him. “Thanks. Never thought of that.”

“Just another holdover from Scouts.” Braeden pushed his packet into the fire almost viciously.

Slim decided not to press the issue, simply adding his foil packet to the flames. He looked around while he waited for it to cook. Several cadets were teasing one another as they cooked their hot dogs. More than one Vulcan stood patiently rotating apples with nearly mechanical precision. Other cadets were sticking marshmallows directly into the flames, then blowing them out and barely letting them cool before popping them into their mouths. At least one cadet was swearing—or at least Slim assumed it was swearing, it certainly sounded like profanity—while his friends laughed at him.

“And that’s why you don’t roast marshmallows like that,” Braeden muttered.

Slim hummed in agreement, then noticed something on the end of the tables they’d just vacated. “Hang on, Brae, I’ll be right back.”

He stepped out of the confines of the fire circle, went back to the table, and picked up two plates and two forks. In response to the raised eyebrow from the staff member watching the table, he explained, “My friend an’ I made hobo packs, but we ain’t gonna be able to hold ‘em with our bare hands when we take ‘em out of the fire, an’ we’ll need somethin’ to eat ‘em with.”

“Good thinking, Cadet,” the staff member said with a grin. “I’m sure the medical staff will appreciate fewer burnt fingers tonight.”

Slim laughed and headed back towards the mailroom attendant. “Permission to enter the fire circle?”

“Permission granted.”

“Thank you.” Slim gave the man a friendly nod, then rejoined Braeden and handed him a plate and fork.

Braeden took them sheepishly. “Thanks. Never thought of that.”

“There an echo around here?”

Both young men laughed.

It was another few minutes before they were able to rake out their packets and quit the fire circle again to look for their friends. Slim didn’t have to look too hard before he saw M’err, sitting alone in a small cluster of logs not far from the fire and holding a plate of hot dogs. He nudged Braeden. “There’s M’err. C’mon.”

M’err looked up as they approached, his eyes glittering green in the firelight and his lip—surprisingly—curled back in a snarl. He relaxed when he saw them, though. “Oh, thank the gods. I was wondering if you all would find me.”

“M’err, of course.” Braeden sat on the log next to M’err and nudged his ankle with his foot. “You’re the only Caitian in our class. Not like you’re hard to miss.”

“Yeah, I reckon Sparky an’ T’Mel will be over as soon as they know what’s what.” Slim sat down on M’err’s other side.

“Have you seen much of them this week?” M’err asked.

Slim shook his head. “Not since breakfast on Tuesday. Sparky’s in a different Engineering cohort than we are, apparently, and we ain’t seen anyone from the Science division.”

Almost as soon as the words were out of his mouth, though, Sparky popped up over M’err’s shoulder, cheerfully waving a hot dog at them. “’Bout time I found you guys. I was starting to get antsy.”

Slim waved at the other nearby logs. “Pull up a seat.”

Sparky plopped down next to Slim with an audible groan. “It’s only been a week and I already think I’m going to kill my roommate before the semester is out.”

“Why’s that?” Braeden asked as he unwrapped his foil packet.

“He’s a slob.” Sparky bit off the end of his hot dog and swallowed it after a few hasty chews. “Drops his dirty clothes wherever he happens to be standing while he’s changing. Leaves the dresser drawers and the doors of his wardrobe open after he’s done pulling stuff out. Drips water all over the floor after a shower and doesn’t bother wiping it up. Doesn’t bother making his bed because he’s just going to get into it later, and okay, that’s a personal thing, to each his own, but the rest of it is driving me _crazy._ Seriously, I know they won’t let us switch roommates unless there’s an actual, serious problem, but I’m about ten seconds away from rolling a line of tape down the middle of the room and telling him that if anything crosses over to my side of the room, I’m burning it.”

Slim’s eyebrows shot up. He hadn’t expected Sparky to mind all that much, but now that he thought about it, he recalled Sparky compulsively straightening his silverware at mealtimes and laying his stylus on the exam table with mathematical precision, and he’d never yet seen him with so much as a crumb on his clothing. Despite the hair—which could very well grow that way—it wasn’t hard at all to imagine Sparky as a neat freak.

“Well, _my_ roommate thinks I’m going to kill _him,_ ” M’err grumbled. “He called security almost as soon as he walked in and told them there was a giant cat in his room. When I told him I was supposed to be there, he about fainted.”

Slim winced. “You’re rooming with an ailurophobe? Maybe y’all ought to talk to Administration ‘bout lettin’ you switch roommates.”

Sparky perked up. “Maybe you and I could room together.”

“More likely you’d be stuck with M’err’s roommate and vice versa,” Braeden told him. “They don’t want people from the same area rooming together first year, remember?”

“It doesn’t matter,” M’err growled. “I made an appointment for us to talk to Administration after my boot camp session ended on Monday, and they told us in no uncertain terms that we will continue to be roommates for the remainder of the year, personal preferences aside. They told Kahnt that he needs to learn to conquer his phobias and me that I need to learn how to deal with prejudice. We are stuck.”

Sparky snorted. “How ‘bout you, TJ? What’s your roommate like?”

“He’s very…” Slim sought for the appropriate word. “Quiet.”

“Quiet?” M’err echoed.

“That’s about all I can come up with,” Slim said with a shrug. “We just don’t talk. At all. We ain’t said a word to each other since he moved in…what’s yours like, Brae?”

Braeden hesitated. “He’s…I don’t know. We don’t talk a lot either. He’s very…friendly, but…I don’t know.”

M’err’s expression darkened, if possible, even further. Before he could say another word, however, a cheerful voice said, “Hey, can we sit here?”

“Sure,” Sparky said, waving at the logs. “Plenty of room.”

Slim didn’t recognize any of the cadets, but one of them evidently knew M’err. Another lived on Sparky’s floor, while a third said she’d been in their orientation. The others were strangers, but they quickly introduced themselves by name and division, something all cadets picked up fairly quickly. Soon they were chatting easily as they ate, swapping stories about how the week had gone and speculating about the start of semester.

“Is there anywhere fun to go on weekends around here?” asked one girl, a blue-eyed blonde who kind of looked like the stereotypical sorority girl from twentieth-century college flicks. She’d introduced herself as Ellye Pierce, Computer Science.

“It’s San Francisco,” one of the other cadets—Jaycen Aquino, Command/Astrophysics—said with a shrug. “Pick your poison.”

“We saw a few interesting places last weekend,” Slim said. “Like he said, depends on what you like.”

“I like having fun,” Ellye said, fluttering her eyelashes at Slim. He was reminded suddenly of Miri.

Whether because he noticed Slim’s sudden discomfort or not, Sparky changed the subject. “You know what this party needs? Music. Something appropriate for a bonfire. Not that I know what that is, but…”

“Folk songs. Campfire songs. That kind of thing,” Braeden suggested. “All the stuff I learned is kiddie stuff.”

Jaycen let out a whistle. “Hey, Minifee! We need you!”

Slim looked up with a grin as Rob ambled over to them. His grin broadened when he saw what Rob had slung over his back. “See you brought that ol’ skinbox of yours with you.”

“You really surprised?” Rob grinned and winked, then reached for the strap. “Y’all want some music?”

“What _is_ that?” asked Teretha Lundy, Xenolinguistics.

“It’s a banjo.” Rob unslung his banjo and tuned it quickly, then started strumming.

Slim’s foot began tapping along to the sprightly jig—it wasn’t hard to recognize “Oh, Susanna,” especially since that was what Rob always started off with. A few cadets began clapping along, but nobody was singing. Slim almost started, then got a better idea.

He reached into his shirt pocket and waited for Rob to finish the first chorus. The second he did, he whipped out his harmonica and started playing along. Rob threw back his head and laughed with delight. Braeden’s eyes about popped out of his head as the two of them played.

Rob ended on a strummed musical sting, then laid his hand flat on the strings to silence them. “Good to see you kept up with that.”

“Ditto,” Slim said with a laugh, wiping his lips quickly. “C’mon, Rob, I know you got more in your repertoire than that.”

“You start this time.”

Slim obliged, leading off with a tune Mr. Minifee had taught him once upon a time. Rob’s face lit up, and he began playing along. This time he sang, too, and a few other cadets joined in.

They played and sang for almost an hour, drawing an ever-larger crowd of cadets. Slim and Rob started taking requests, which ran the gamut from traditional folk songs to blues standards, which sounded a little odd on the banjo. People sang lustily, not always in tune, and everyone was in high spirits.

“Moon River!” someone called from the back of the crowd.

“I don’t know that one,” Rob called back.

“I do.” Slim lifted one foot and put it on the stump he’d been sitting on, shook the spit out of his harmonica, and brought it up to his lips, then began to play. The song was a mid-twentieth century piece, originally written for a movie and usually played on the flugelhorn, but Slim had learned the harmonica tabs and loved it. The crowd around them fell quiet as Slim drew out the notes, long and languid, and let the music wash over them.

When he was done, the crowd dissipated, some going to get more food, others drifting over to form new groups, all seeming in a daze. Sparky, Braeden, and M’err stayed, as did Jaycen and Rob.

“You play very well, son,” a voice said behind Slim.

He turned around to find an older man smiling at him benignly, obviously one of the Academy staff members. “Thank you, sir.”

The man’s smile softened. “How long have you been playing?”

“Since I was six or seven.”

“And have you had this harmonica the entire time? It has a fine sound.”

Slim shook his head. “No, sir, it was sort of by way of a fourteenth birthday present.”

The man laughed. “How so?”

“Yeah, where’d you get it from, TJ?” Sparky piped up. “I’d like to get one of those too. Love to learn.”

“I reckon you can get ‘em a few different places,” Slim answered. “But I sort of found it. Well, my sister did—well, actually, Mr. Scott did. Addie was tryin’ to pull herself up on a bench an’ she accidentally pulled off the front panel—it was hollow for storage—an’ Uncle Scotty found the harmonica stored in the bench.”

The man’s smile faded. “Where was this?”

Slim swallowed. “Uh…actually, aboard the _Enterprise._ ”

“May I see?” The man held out his hand.

Slim gave the harmonica a quick wipe and handed it to the man, who held it close to his eyes, studying the engraving. After a moment, he said quietly, “You see this name on the case? You know who this belonged to?”

“Yes, sir, to Christopher Pike,” Slim answered. “I’ve heard a lot of stories about him.” He’d also met him, or at least met someone who was supposed to be him, when the _Enterprise_ had been intercepted by an alien race wanting to learn the difference between “good” and “evil,” but he didn’t see fit to mention that.

The man’s expression was a sad one as he handed the harmonica back to him. “He’d be quite proud it went to you, I think. I look forward to seeing you around, Mister…?”

“Kirk, sir. Thomas Kirk.” Slim palmed the harmonica and offered the man the kindest smile he could. “I look forward to seeing you around, too…” He trailed off, realizing that the man’s outfit gave no indication of his rank and he had no idea how to address him.

The man gave no reply, only turned and melted into the shadows. M’err huffed. “That was odd.”

“Seemed like a nice guy,” Braeden offered.

“Yeah,” Slim said softly. He stared down at the engraving on the harmonica, remembering all the times he’d played it for Addie, for Audra, for his father. For himself. He also remembered a conversation he’d had with Pike about the harmonica, during their brief time on the bridge while his father had been meeting with his most senior command.

He raised the harmonica to his lips again and began to play “Home, Sweet Home.”

Peripherally, he was aware that conversation was dying away all over the lawn, that heads were turning towards him, but he ignored them. He put everything he had into the song that had once been Christopher Pike’s favorite.

He could only hope it would be enough.

 


	11. Try to Keep the Balance Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know what, to heck with it. Update schedule will be every _other_ Saturday instead of every Saturday. At least that way I won't feel so guilty about not getting stuff written faster...
> 
> In my defense, I'm actively trying to finish the first draft of a novel. (I'm passively working on several other novels, but Call-Up Worthy is definitely first priority.) My mom keeps spontaneously making plans and dragging me away from my computer all day. Also, Opening Day at Harbor Park is this upcoming Friday, so that's going to bite heavily into my writing schedule. I'll just call it every other week and hope and pray I can actually maintain that.
> 
> Chapter title is taken from "XXXs and OOOs (An American Girl)" by Trisha Yearwood.

_Cadet’s Log, Stardate 2274.229. Today begins my first day of classes at Starfleet Academy. This is where the true test comes in—where I really determine whether or not I can hack it at the Academy, let alone in Starfleet proper. I am not ashamed to admit that I have butterflies in my stomach and very little idea of what to expect. I can only hope my preparations aboard the_ Enterprise _will be sufficient._

_~*~*~*~_

Slim was scheduled for six classes his first semester. Two of them were three days a week—Monday, Wednesday, and Friday—while one of them was on Monday and Wednesday afternoons. Two of them were on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and the last class was a night class that only met on Wednesdays. All in all, he had to admit, it wasn’t too strenuous of a schedule. It would get heavier as the semesters went on, but he guessed the system liked to ease cadets into things.

His first class of the day was Federation History, starting at 0830, which took place in one of the larger lecture halls since it was a required class for all first-year cadets. There were multiple classes, of course, but still, if they’d studied in one of the regular-sized lecture halls, they’d have had to be running those classes all day. Slim had been pleased to learn that Rob was also in his session, since none of the friends he’d come to the Academy with were in it; Sparky and M’err had it later in the day, T’Mel had a double-length lecture on Tuesday nights that was taught entirely in Vulcan, and Braeden wasn’t scheduled for it until the following semester. They walked from breakfast to the lecture hall together and found seats towards the back, then settled in with their PADDs and waited as the room filled up.

Slim recognized a few of the cadets coming in, not many, but that was to be expected, he supposed. He guessed it would be a while before he started knowing all the cadets in his class, if he ever did, and it would probably be when he got into the higher-level classes. There were a couple of other Engineering students he’d met during their bonding week, a couple of people from his building, and one or two people he’d met at Orientation. Lavanchy gave a jaunty salute, which Slim returned, before taking a seat five rows closer to the front. He thought he saw Margolis, down near the door, but from that distance it was hard to tell.

At 0830 on the dot, the door slammed shut and a tall, elderly man in the uniform of an Academy instructor walked up to the lectern at the front of the room.

“Good morning,” he said gravely. “I am Commander John Tolliver, and I will be your instructor in Federation History.”

“He was probably there for most of it,” the cadet in front of Slim whispered. His companion elbowed him to shut him up.

Tolliver cast an amused glance in the cadet’s direction, as if he’d heard—which he well might have, since the room was designed for that sort of thing. He suddenly froze, however, his smile slipping slightly. “You there,” he said, his voice suddenly taking on a slightly sharper tone as he pointed. “Stand up.”

The cadet who had spoken gulped and started to rise, but Tolliver shook his head impatiently. “Not you—behind you. Stand up, boy.”

Slim’s stomach dropped. He took a deep breath and rose to his feet, standing at attention as best he could, conscious of how every head in the room turned to look at him—some curiously, some smug. With an effort, he kept his gaze on Tolliver.

“What is your name, Cadet?” Tolliver asked.

_And so it begins,_ Slim thought miserably. “Kirk, sir. Thomas Kirk.”

A murmur swept the hall briefly before dying away. Some of those people definitely looked more interested than before.

Tolliver narrowed his eyes at him, then made a show of looking down at his PADD, probably checking roll. After a moment, he nodded. “Right. You may sit, Cadet Kirk.”

Slim sank into his seat, wondering if he could crawl under it. He also wondered what his father had done to piss off this teacher so badly that he was still annoyed with him and his line nearly twenty years later.

Once they had gone over the syllabus, Tolliver released them with a caution to read the first chapter of their book before the next class and a dire warning not to be late. Slim was able to escape without attracting too much attention, but he knew all eyes were on him and he didn’t like it.

Introduction to Engineering was easier. Partly because he’d already met about half of the students in the class—including Braeden and Sparky—and partly because, as he had promised, the teacher was Ayotola. He didn’t call roll, didn’t single out any of the students, merely went over the syllabus with them, then launched into the first lesson. Slim wasn’t terribly surprised to find that he already knew all of the information, but he jotted down notes anyway. If he didn’t, he was sure to forget the way Ayotola wanted it phrased come exam time.

Class let out at noon, and they navigated their way to the nearest cafeteria. T’Mel was already there, sitting at a table by herself; she looked up when they approached and nodded. “Health and long life to you, my friends.”

“Live long and prosper, T’Mel.” Slim nodded at the other seats. “Mind if we join you?”

“Not at all.”

Sparky plunked himself down and picked up his sandwich. “How’s your first day been so far?”

“It has been adequate,” T’Mel replied. “I suppose it will be more strenuous as the days go on, but it appears, from the two classes I have had so far this morning, that the first lesson is merely an explanation of what is expected of us.”

Sparky frowned. “Really? I’ve only had one class so far, and we had a whole lesson already.”

“I think Ayotola’s the exception,” Braeden offered. “I had Intro to Linguistics this morning, and all they did was give us the syllabus.”

“Yeah, same with my Federation History class,” Slim said. “Recognized a few people in the hall, but really, that’s a huge class.”

“Well, we all have to take it at some point,” Braeden said. “Matter of fact, mine’s at three today.”

“That was my second class of the day,” T’Mel said. “My first was Introductory Astrophysics.”

Sparky shrugged. “I’m not scheduled to take it until next semester. But I’ve got Intro to Comp-Sci at one-thirty and Basic Defense at three-fifteen.”

“My Basic Defense is at one-thirty,” Slim said, a little ruefully. “When’s yours, Brae?”

“Same. How ‘bout you, T’Mel?”

“I am also in the three-fifteen class,” T’Mel replied. “That is my only other class today.”

Braeden sighed. “Am I the only one taking four classes today?”

“Today, yeah,” Slim answered. “I’ve got four on Wednesday, though. Klingon 101 starts at five at night.”

T’Mel raised an eyebrow. “Fascinating.”

Before Slim could say anything else, his PADD suddenly gave a loud chirrup, making him jump. He quickly fished it out of the pocket of his cadet reds and thumbed the screen to call up the message.

“Everything okay?” Sparky asked with his mouth full.

Slim nodded, tucking the PADD safely away again. “Yeah. I’m just scheduled for a quick check-in with my PCP this afternoon.”

“What does PCP stand for?” T’Mel asked.

“Oh. Primary Care Physician.” Slim frowned as he picked up his sandwich. “I ain’t sure why. Pa did a full physical on me ‘fore I left for the Academy. Reckon he just wants to do a quick confirmation or somethin’.”

Sparky suddenly grinned and waved. Slim turned around to see M’err come into the room. He nodded in their direction, then headed over to the food slots before joining them. “Hey,” he rumbled. “How have your mornings been?”

They took turns filling M’err in on the discussion he’d missed. He shook his head ruefully. “I’m jealous. Really I am. I’ve had three classes already, and I have two more this afternoon. Plus three tomorrow.”

“Well, you’re a double major,” Slim pointed out. “You’re also on the Command track, so I reckon they’ve got a lot to push you through.”

“That isn’t exactly why.” M’err rubbed his neck sheepishly. “You know how everyone graduates in four years with an ensign’s commission?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, that might not be completely accurate. Most people graduate in four years as ensigns, but if you take the five-year program, you graduate as a lieutenant—not a Lieutenant JG, a full lieutenant.” M’err licked his lips. “I asked, and it turns out you can accelerate the process by taking a lot of extra classes. So I chose the accelerated option. I am essentially cramming five years into four, so that I’ll graduate at the same time as you all, but…”

“You’ll outrank us,” Braeden completed, but he was grinning. “The first step on your way to command. Makes perfect sense to me.”

M’err grinned back, but the relief in his eyes was evident. “I had hoped you would understand.”

The five of them chatted a bit more before everyone but T’Mel had to leave. They promised to meet at the cafeteria nearest their dorms for dinner, then headed out the door and scattered—Sparky for the Computer Sciences building, M’err for the Humanities building where his Public Speaking class was held, and Braeden and Slim for the gymnasium, where all the combat and defense classes were held. Slim had studied the four-year plan he’d been given and realized fairly quickly that first-year cadets were expected to learn how to defend themselves _only;_ basic combat kicked in their second year, which made perfect sense to him.

Both of them were wearing their athletic uniforms under their cadet reds, so they simply stripped off the outer layers in the locker rooms and stored them, then headed into the small gymnasium where their class was being held. A fit-looking man with a steel grey buzz cut nodded at them as they came in. “Names?”

“Braeden Rocheford, sir,” Braeden said.

“Thomas Kirk,” Slim said.

The man raised an eyebrow at Slim. “Son of James Kirk, are you?”

Slim sighed inwardly. “Yes, sir.”

“Good man. Good man. One of my best students. I dare say he’s taught you a few things, hey?”

“A few,” Slim conceded.

“Have a seat.” The instructor waved at the mats surrounding him and turned to the next cadet walking in.

There were about thirty cadets in the class total, in varying sizes. Slim noted with some surprise that everyone in the class was human, or at least humanoid. The instructor paced in front of the cluster of cross-legged cadets, holding his PADD in front of him. “Right, welcome to Basic Defense. I’m Captain Charles Schlimme, your instructor for this class. We’re going to learn the art of self-defense. This is _not_ a combat class and you will _not_ learn how to attack others in it. We will _only_ be working on defense postures. If you try and apply anything I teach you towards combat, you will be used as a tackle dummy by my Advanced Hand-to-Hand class.”

A few cadets laughed, but Slim guessed that Schlimme meant every word.

Schlimme went over the basics with them of what they could expect from the class, as well as what he expected from them, then had them all stand up and stretch. It took about fifteen minutes for the lecture, Slim estimated, plus five minutes to stretch.

“Right,” Schlimme said at last. “Now we’re going to learn the basic block. Kirk, come here for a minute.”

Obediently, Slim stepped forward. He was about the same size as Schlimme, although he hadn’t quite grown into his breadth. Schlimme gave him a sharp nod. “Right, Kirk, throw me a basic right cross.”

Slim curled his hand into a fist, the way his father had shown him, and threw a cross. He knew exactly what block Schlimme was going for, and while he’d learned how to counteract it, he didn’t. That wasn’t what the class was about. Sure enough, Schlimme threw up his left hand and deflected Slim’s fist.

“This is only useful in certain circumstances,” Schlimme said, “but it’s where we’re going to start anyway.”

For the next hour, Schlimme walked them through how to handle a couple of basic blocks, pairing them off to practice. Slim worked with Braeden, who was very clearly only able to deflect Slim’s punches because he was throwing the textbook punch for him to block, and even then, Slim had to rein himself back. Finally, Schlimme had them do a couple of cool-down stretches and let them go.

Braeden took a deep breath as they stepped into the locker room. “Not sure what I’m going to think of this class. I’m not…exactly built for this sort of thing.”

“Everyone’s built for defense,” Slim said distractedly as he pulled off his sweatpants—he was going to leave his t-shirt on, at least until he was a bit more comfortable with the other cadets, but the uniform pants were tailored a bit closely and it had been awkward. “I used to spar with my dad when I was still a skinny little twig, an’ I did all right. The whole point is to learn to defend yourself against everybody. Ain’t gonna do you much good if you c’n only fend off people your size.”

“Yeah…I guess.” Braeden looked a little self-conscious as he collected his uniform. “’Scuse me, I’ve gotta use the restroom.”

Slim waited for Braeden, not really surprised when he came back in his reds, and they walked out of the building together. He glanced at his chronometer. “You in the History building for your next class? I’ll walk you over. Don’t have to be to Medical until 1530.”

“Thanks, TJ,” Braeden said gratefully.

It turned out that Tolliver was Braeden’s instructor, because he entered the classroom a split-second after Braeden did. Clearly, he was only just barely in time for his class; they’d have to step it up the next day. Slim walked slowly out of the building and onto the grounds.

For a first day, it hadn’t been too difficult. He was definitely a lot calmer about things than he’d been that morning, but he also wasn’t foolish enough to believe that things would stay this easy. It was entirely possible that he’d be crying by Friday night. Still, it hadn’t been too bad, for a Monday.

He thought about heading back to his dorm room to change, but decided against it. Technically, they were supposed to be in uniform at all times while the Academy was in session, just like on board a starship. Some cadets, he’d already noticed, changed into civvies as soon as their classes were over for the day, but Slim was leery of doing that. If anyone was in class, he was going to wear his uniform. It just seemed more respectful.

Instead, he ambled as slowly as he could towards the Medical building he’d noticed on his first day. He was about fifteen minutes early, but he reckoned that was all to the good; he’d need to figure out where exactly he was going. He walked up to the reception desk, where the rather bored-looking cadet on duty brightened at his approach. “How can I help you?”

Slim flicked out his PADD to double-check the details. “I’m supposed to have a check-up with Dr. Phillip Boyce at 1530.” The name tickled something in the back of his mind, but he wasn’t sure what, exactly; most likely he’d been one of Leo’s instructors while he was at the Academy. “Can you tell me where to find him?”

“Name, please?” the cadet asked pertly, tapping at the computer screen.

“Kirk, Thomas J.”

The cadet scanned the screen. Slim guessed he was verifying that he actually had an appointment. “Oh, here you are. Head up to the second floor and turn left when you come out of the lifts, or right if you use the stairwell. You’re looking for Non-Emergency.”

“Thank you.” Slim smiled and headed for the stairs.

He found the correct wing and checked in with the receptionist, then sat down to wait. A few minutes later, an orderly came out and escorted him to an exam room, then instructed him to remove his socks, shoes, and uniform shirt and sit on the exam table. The orderly left as Slim sat down to tug off his boots.

About ten minutes went by before the door opened, and Slim found himself gaping. The man who walked in, now wearing a white lab coat over the familiar blue Medical uniform, was the elderly man who had spoken to him at the bonfire on Friday night.

“So, we meet again, Cadet Kirk,” he said in a pleasant, conversational tone.

Slim slid off the table and held out his hand uncertainly. “Dr. Boyce, I presume.”

“Correctly. Have a seat, Kirk. This is informal,” Boyce said, waving at the exam table. “I truly do make a habit to meet with each of my cadets during the first week of classes, to verify a few things and clarify treatment. I admit I have a…special interest in you, though.”

“Join the club,” Slim muttered before he could stop himself, then blushed.

Boyce laughed. “Your father had much the same problem when he first arrived, too. It took him a bit to overcome his reputation as merely ‘George Kirk’s son.’ I imagine you’ll have a bit harder of a time of it, since George Kirk was only famous for a single moment.”

“Were you his primary?” Slim asked.

“Gracious, no. I didn’t even work at Starfleet Academy at the time. Leonard McCoy was always Jim’s primary.” Boyce smiled. “By the way, how is your father? Recovered from his little emergency surgery?”

Slim nodded. “Yes, sir. He had a little bit of a setback for a while, but he was back to work ‘bout a month before I left.”

“Good to hear that. And your stepfather? Holding things together?”

“He’s doin’ just fine, ‘specially after Dad got up an’ runnin’ again.”

“Good, good.” Boyce studied his PADD. “I see he did quite a thorough physical on you before you left, so I’ll only ask—do you feel well?”

Slim smiled. “So far, so good, sir.”

Boyce set the PADD on the counter and studied Slim seriously for a moment. “Ordinarily, this is where I would let you go, but…I have a non-medical question for you. Did you play ‘Home, Sweet Home’ at the bonfire because you knew what it meant to me?”

His voice broke slightly on the last words, and Slim was astonished to see tears in the older man’s eyes. He had to swallow twice before answering. “No, sir. I played it ‘cause I knew it was Christopher Pike’s favorite.”

“Yes,” Boyce said softly. “Yes, it was. Do you know, he would play that song every time we came back from an away mission? When he played it for the first time after the Battle of Vulcan, that was when I knew he would be all right.”

“Did you…know him well, sir?” Slim asked, just as softly.

Boyce nodded. “He was my husband.”

Slim winced hard, thinking of Leo and Jim and the way they often reacted when one or the other was sick or hurt—or missing. “I’m sorry, sir.” Realizing how that sounded, he blushed and quickly added, “I—I mean, I’m sorry you _lost_ him, not—”

“It’s all right, boy. I knew what you meant.” Boyce patted Slim gently on the shoulder. “And I meant what I said the other day, you know. Especially now that I know you’re Jim’s son. He’d have been quite proud it went to you.”

Slim hesitated. “Sir—how much d’you know about what the _Enterprise_ has been up to these last few years?”

“Only the basics,” Boyce replied, sounding surprised. “Some of the more major events. Why?”

“Well…has anyone told you about Excalbia?”

 


	12. The Heart of Stone I Sometimes Get

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just...not ever going to promise to get on a schedule again.
> 
> Seriously, folks, I am so sorry this took so long (and it's kinda short for as long as it took to get out). I'm still desperately trying to finish the first draft of my NaNo novel, which is what I used Camp to try and do; between that and baseball games fourteen nights out of thirty, I left the chapter three-quarters finished for an entire month and didn't get back to it until this week. I'm trying really, really hard to not have this happen again, and I've already started the next chapter, so that's good, right?
> 
> Chapter title is taken from "The Cowboy in Me" by Tim McGraw.

_Cadet’s log, Stardate 2274.230. I had dinner with Dr. Boyce last night and told him some of the adventures the_ Enterprise _went on that haven’t quite made it back to Earth yet—most notably, about our encounter with the Excalbians, and their “big honor” they conveyed on us. I kind of felt bad for putting him through that, but he seemed to appreciate me telling him. And I heard a few stories I’d not heard before. All in all, yesterday was a fairly good one and I have high hopes for today._

_~*~*~*~_

Slim’s alarm startled him—which he guessed was the point—and he groaned to himself as he rolled out of bed an hour earlier than normal. For some reason, his PT was scheduled at 0630 on Tuesdays and Thursdays. It also didn’t count as one of his six classes, which might have been why it was so early. Still, it was difficult to get out of bed and head to the bathroom. He skipped the shower, but changed in the stall anyway because he was still self-conscious about his scars.

He’d turned his alarm off as quickly as he could, but when he got back to the room, Margolis was up and moving. Slim would have apologized, except that his roommate was dressed much the same as Slim was—in his Starfleet-issued athletic uniform—and lacing up his sneakers. Slim said nothing, merely headed to the wardrobe to pull out his own sneakers. He stuffed his reds, his PADDs for the day, and his ballroom shoes into the gym bag he’d been issued, slung it over his shoulder, and stepped out the door.

Margolis stepped out as well, carrying his own gym bag, and glanced at Slim. “PT?”

Slim tried not to show he was startled and instead nodded. “Mm-hmm. Van Rooyen?”

“Yep,” Margolis replied.

And that seemed to be that. They walked the rest of the way to the lift in silence. Just as it was arriving, though, Slim heard footsteps behind them and turned to see Braeden, who managed to look both tired and nervous at the same time. He relaxed when he saw Slim, though. “You’ve got PT with Van Rooyen? Or are you just out for a run or something?”

“No, we do. Brae, this is Zev Margolis, my roommate.” Slim gestured from Margolis to Braeden and back. “Margolis, this is Braeden Rocheford.”

“Hi,” Braeden said softly.

“Hello,” Margolis responded. He stepped into the lift and stood in the corner with his hands behind his back.

None of them spoke for the rest of the way to the field where they had been told to report. Fog still gripped the campus in the grey light of pre-dawn, and Slim was grateful that he’d thought to wear the sweatshirt as well as the t-shirt, because it was definitely a bit chilly. Margolis hadn’t been wearing his when they left, but he’d grabbed it when he’d seen Slim wearing it, and he’d shrugged into it before they’d gone halfway across the lawn. Braeden, who also hadn’t brought his, had his shoulders rolled forward and his back hunched slightly to ward off the chill.

They were the first ones to arrive, even before the teacher. Slim clasped his hands behind his back and stood at parade rest, waiting patiently. It sort of surprised him when Margolis and Braeden mimicked his pose, although Braeden sort of ruined the effect by shivering. Other cadets trickled in slowly, including Sparky, M’err, and T’Mel. Slim gave them a brief nod of acknowledgment when they arrived, but didn’t speak. Some of the cadets lounged, or sat on the ground, but probably about two-thirds of them stood in the same posture as Slim had adopted. He didn’t know how many of them had planned that and how many assumed that was the way they were supposed to stand. Truthfully, he was just standing that way because it was the most comfortably efficient way of standing still he knew.

At 0630 on the dot, a harsh, stentorian voice boomed out over the field. “ _TENNNNNN-SHUN!_ ”

All the cadets standing at parade rest immediately snapped to attention, Sparky clicking his heels together so hard that he winced. The ones who hadn’t scrambled to get to their feet, and a few of the brighter ones mimicked the pose the others stood at, but there were one or two who just stood up and looked like they hoped that would be enough.

From the looks of the man coming towards them, it wouldn’t be, not by a long shot.

He looked so much like the description of Coach Hedge in _The Lost Hero_ that Slim found himself wondering if he actually had hooves in his boots, but the scowl on his face promised no kindness or understanding whatsoever. This was not a man who had much interest in protecting or guiding anyone. He was also as red as a tomato, and it probably wasn’t from exertion or too much sun.

“LAPS!” the man bellowed. “Five times around! Jump to it!”

Slim immediately set out for the track, head down. He started off at an easy pace, then gradually picked up speed until, by the end of the first lap, he was running at what he guessed to be about as fast as he could sustain for the next three laps. Audra had taught him that—start off slow, build up to top speed, then gradually slow down for the last lap, because you could do serious damage to yourself if you just stopped.

He couldn’t tell how many of his other classmates had received the same advice, though, and how many were following it. M’err and T’Mel had both outstripped him during the first lap and then passed him again as he began his second; Braeden and Sparky had both dropped behind. Others were straggling behind or running ahead, but he had no idea how many laps they’d done. Only Margolis—to his mild surprise—kept pace with him the entire time.

M’err was one of the first ones finished, but his chest was heaving and his tongue lolling out of his mouth as he waited on the side of the track. Most of the others who had sped their way through also looked exhausted, although T’Mel seemed unaffected. Slim didn’t know how much of that was stamina and how much of it was discipline. He himself, as he slowed to a jog, then a rolling walk, felt fine.

He trotted off the track and stretched to keep his muscles from tensing up while he waited for the others to finish. Quite a few were huffing and puffing. Braeden looked absolutely miserable. Sparky looked like something out of an old Warner Brothers cartoon as he stumbled his way around the track, wheezing and barely managing to stay upright. Meanwhile, the man Slim assumed was their instructor watched and scowled.

“Right!” he bellowed as the last cadet—Braeden—stuttered to the end of the last lap. “TENNNNNNNN- _SHUN!_ ”

Probably about half the cadets managed attention, although the speedsters were still gasping for air. The rest looked like they were barely managing to stay upright. Sparky winced as he held onto his side. Slim didn’t dare show any sympathy to his friends, though. The instructor paced in front of them, scowling as he studied them all.

“Starfleet’s finest,” he sneered, his voice dripping with irony. “The future of the Federation, right here in front of me. _Look_ at you. Can’t even run five laps without collapsing. I can see I’ve got my work cut out for me!” he suddenly bellowed.

He was standing right in front of Braeden at the time, who about jumped out of his skin. The man got right in Braeden’s face. “What’s your name, Cadet?”

“R-Rocheford, sir.”

The man curled his lip. “Are you _scared_ of me, Rocheford?”

“Sir, yes, sir!” Braeden said fervently.

“ _Good!_ ” the instructor shouted. Braeden flinched and closed his eyes. Slim tensed, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw M’err’s hands curl into fists; thankfully, however, the instructor started pacing along the line again and left Braeden alone. “I’m not here to be your friend! I am not here for you to _like_ me! I am Commander Jaivyn Van Rooyen, and I am here to whip you into shape! I am here to turn you into soldiers if it kills me!”

“I thought Starfleet wasn’t a military organization, sir!” Slim hadn’t meant to speak. The words had just slipped out. A few cadets turned to look at him as though he had just made things a lot more interesting, which he probably had.

Van Rooyen got in Slim’s face, his own complexion a deep shade of plum. “What is _your_ name, Cadet Smart-Alec?”

Slim stared straight ahead, focusing on a point just above Van Rooyen’s head. “Kirk, sir!”

“Kirk?” To Slim’s surprise—and mild alarm—the plum color faded from Van Rooyen’s face to a slightly more normal tone, and his lips curled upwards in a sneer. “Of _course._ Our new _celebrity._ Son of the _great_ Captain James T. Kirk.”

It wasn’t hard to miss the sarcasm on the word _great_. Slim forced himself to remain calm. It was a bit like dealing with Nylund again, without the gloss of manners to hide the fact that he was a pretentious dickwad. “Well, _you_ of all people, Cadet _Kirk,_ should know that Starfleet wants its diplomats to be soldiers, too! You _will_ be able to follow orders! You _will_ be able to fight your way out of a tight spot if you need to! You _will_ maintain body mass standards and physical fitness!” Van Rooyen took a step back and smirked. “Well, the _rest_ of your class will. I don’t have a lot of hope for _you,_ Kirk. You’re just like your father. Smug, insufferable, lazy. Think the rules don’t apply to you, do you?”

“No, sir. I mean yes, sir.” Slim stopped, a little confused as to how he was supposed to respond.

Before he could respond, however, Van Rooyen bellowed, right in his face, “CADET KIRK, ONE MORE LAP! CADETS, HOLD ATTENTION!”

Slim ducked around Van Rooyen to start around the track. This was definitely not a promising start.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there's our introduction to Commander Van Rooyen, Official Asshole! I hope you'll all join me in wishing for a piano to fall on his head.


	13. Put Down and Pushed Around

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys, you have _no idea_ how sorry I am that this took so long. I have been (as I mentioned last time) trying to finish the first draft of last year's NaNo project. You'll all be happy to know that I finally finished it!...on Tuesday, two days before _this_ year's NaNoWriMo started. So, again, most of the writing I do for the next thirty (well, twenty-eight) days will be a novel that has nothing to do with this story.
> 
> But I did finish this chapter--and I even have about half of the next chapter done, so if I get enough ahead I might work on it a bit, too. So...I hope this was worth the wait?

_Cadet’s log, Stardate 2274.230, supplemental. I’m not an optimist anymore._

~*~*~*~

“Is that legal? Seriously. Was _any_ of that legal?”

Slim rubbed the bridge of his nose, eyes closed. His entire body hurt, and not in a good way. Van Rooyen had turned them inside out and upside down, and while Slim knew part of his job really was to give them the physical training they would need to survive as Starfleet officers, it seemed the commander’s chosen task had actually been to break them all down. Especially him. He didn’t know what his father had done to draw Van Rooyen’s ire—or if they’d ever even met—but the man had been particularly nasty to him the entire hour.

Not that the other cadets had been spared, much. Braeden had nearly collapsed before they’d made it back to their dorm rooms to shower and change. Sparky had been ranting for pretty much the entire half-hour they’d spent in the cafeteria, and M’err was still rubbing at his chest like it hurt from the exertion.

“It is not only legal, Quirinius,” T’Mel said calmly, “but it is completely within the boundaries of Starfleet regulations.”

She alone had come out of PT looking completely unruffled, but Slim _knew_ that was one hundred percent her Vulcan training and nothing to do with endurance, because he’d seen her press a hand to her side, where a human’s liver but a Vulcan’s heart was, when she thought no one was looking. She also wasn’t eating very much.

“What is, killing the cadets under your care?” Sparky demanded. He stabbed viciously at his eggs.

“As long as at least one cadet in the squadron can do everything he tells us to without getting seriously hurt or killed, it’s considered acceptable,” Slim told him. “Starfleet regulations 796.2(b). ‘A commanding officer may either hold his command to the limits of the lowest common denominator _or_ push them to the limits of the most capable member of said command.’”

“Did you memorize the manual or something?” M’err demanded.

Slim managed a small smile. “You would not _believe_ how unbelievably bored it is possible to get on a starship when you’re not allowed to help work on it.”

Braeden hunched his shoulders, staring into the depths of his coffee cup. He seemed to be making himself as small as possible, and he hadn’t said a word since Van Rooyen had gotten in his face. Slim reached over to touch his arm, then thought better of it, not wanting to startle him. “Brae, you okay?”

Braeden nodded, a little listlessly, but didn’t look up. Slim and M’err exchanged concerned glances, but neither said anything. Sparky didn’t seem to notice. “I don’t have class until this afternoon. I’m thinking I might go back to bed for a couple hours. What about you guys?”

“I have class in an hour,” M’err said, a little ruefully. “Federation History 101.”

T’Mel nodded. “That is when my Introduction to Xenobotany class begins.”

Slim glanced at the chronometer. “I’ve got ‘bout two an’ a half hours before my History of Space Flight class. How ‘bout you, Brae?”

For an answer, Braeden activated his PADD and turned it to face Slim. Slim read over the schedule presented to him. “Calc I starts at the same time as my class. I was thinkin’ of goin’ to the Kelvin Memorial Gardens for a bit—want to come with me?”

Braeden nodded again. M’err’s frown deepened, but again, he kept his mouth shut.

They separated about twenty minutes later; Sparky, M’err, and T’Mel all headed back to their dorms—the latter to get their bags for class, the former to go back to bed as promised—while Slim led Braeden to the Kelvin Memorial Gardens. The five of them had spent some time exploring there the last day of their free week, but they hadn’t had time to go back. Slim had enjoyed it a lot, though. In a way, it made him feel a little bit of a connection to the grandfather he’d never known.

He also knew that his grandmother had done the landscaping. She’d done a good job, too. There was something blooming all the time, no matter the season, no matter the weather, no matter the time of day; there was even a moonlight garden filled with night-blooming plants from several different worlds that managed not to kill each other. It was a testament to her skill as a xenobotanist.

Neither he nor Braeden spoke as they wended their way through the garden. There were several seating areas—low stone benches, clusters of rocks, even a gazebo—scattered throughout, but Slim singled out the one that he’d noticed the first time he’d been there, the one tucked in among a tall, protective ring of sunflowers and corn. It was warm and open, but also sheltered and hidden, so he figured it might be most likely to make Braeden feel safe enough to speak again.

“You all right?” he asked softly, indicating the bench. “I grew up in foster care, Brae, I saw a lot of kids who were hurt or abused. I know what that look means. You c’n talk about it, if you want.”

Braeden stared at the bench like it might hold the secrets of the universe, then slowly sank down on it. Slim sat down next to him and looked out in front of them. He figured Braeden would be more likely to open up if Slim wasn’t staring at him like he was trying to pull him apart with his mind. Sure enough, after a few minutes, he spoke in a soft, hoarse voice.

“I don’t like…men getting in my face like that. Or screaming. I’m _not_ very athletic, I know that…I’m pretty good at acrobatics, but speed isn’t really my thing. And…” Braeden wrapped his arms tightly around himself. “He scares the hell out of me, TJ. And I don’t know what to do about it.”

Slim bit his lip hard and considered all his options. He wasn’t a psychologist, had barely interacted with anyone close to his own age in five years, but he tried to think of what his dad—or stepfather—would have said in this situation.

Then Port’s face and deep, rumbling voice popped into his mind, and Slim relaxed. He knew what to say.

“I don’t blame you for bein’ scared, Brae,” he told his friend. “An’ I know the brass won’t do anything about it, if what they’ve said to M’err so far is any indication. But what I can tell you is that we won’t let him hurt you. _I_ won’t let him hurt you. I’ll help you work on your speed an’ stamina if you want, an’ I’ll try to keep him off of you.” He thought for a second. “Don’t reckon that’ll be hard, honestly. He doesn’t like me much.”

Braeden sighed. “I don’t—want you to have to do that. I just…” He looked up at Slim, his expression vulnerable. “He won’t…he wouldn’t actually do anything to me. Would he? I just have to convince myself of that.”

Slim hesitated. The truth was that he _couldn’t_ guarantee Van Rooyen wouldn’t hurt any of them. “He’d be in a lot of trouble if he did,” he said at last. “Can’t guarantee that’d stop him, but…friends look out for each other, you know? We won’t let you get hurt.”

“I trust you. I trust all of you. You know that, right?”

“I do. Just like I trust y’all, an’ everyone back on the _Enterprise_ —well, ‘most everyone,” Slim amended, thinking of Watanabe. “Like I said, we’re friends.”

Braeden took a deep breath. “I’ll…I’ll explain everything to you,” he promised. “Someday. Just not today. But…thank you.”

“Any time.” Slim gave his friend an honest smile. “An’ whenever you’re ready to talk, I’m here.”

“Thank you for that, too.”

They sat for a while longer, discussing strategies for dealing with Van Rooyen and making plans to start running in the mornings, at least on their off days for PT. Finally, they had to get up and start heading back to the campus for their first classes of the day.

“Meet you at the sunwise academic caf for lunch,” Slim said, waving a hand in that direction. There were three cafeterias nearest the academic building, and while they all had official numbers and unofficial names, Slim and his friends hadn’t quite learned them yet.

“Sounds good.” Braeden gave Slim a quick hug, surprising him with the strength in his wiry arms. “Thanks again, TJ.”

“Any time, Brae.”

M’err turned out to be in his History of Flight class, and they sat next to each other. The instructor, a wizened old man who had probably gone to school with the Wright brothers, seemed impressed when he called Slim’s name but didn’t say anything about it. After going over the syllabus with them, he released them cheerfully. Slim and M’err headed to the cafeteria to get food and selected a seat. They didn’t have long to wait before Braeden joined them, looking a lot more relaxed than before. M’err seemed a lot calmer after seeing him, too.

“I have Vulcan 101 this afternoon,” M’err informed them. “It starts at 1330, so I may be a little pressed for time to eat going forward. What about you?”

“Intro to Navigation. I guess you’ve got Ballroom Dance, right, TJ?” Braeden raised an eyebrow.

Slim grinned as M’err looked surprised. “Yep. Not ‘til 1500, though. When’s your class?”

“Same. Caf near the dorms for dinner?”

“Agreed.”

The long break meant that Slim had more than enough time to make his way back to the athletic complex, change, and head into the small gymnasium where the dance classes were held, shoes in hand. He was the first to arrive—unsurprising, as he was nearly ten minutes early—and took a moment to study the room in delight.

Far from the tertiary gym on the _Enterprise,_ which had stored everything from jump ropes to yoga mats, this was a gym dedicated solely to dance. There was a mirror along one wall, a barre firmly attached to it, and a few chairs lining the wall opposite, clearly meant for those not dancing yet to be able to rest. Slim selected one to sit down and lace up his dancing shoes, soft and well-broken in.

Once he was done, he stood and stretched, glad the soreness of the morning had gone. He ambled slowly along the length of the room, looking with delight at the pictures of famous dancers from all over the galaxy. Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers, Frankie Manning and one of his many partners, Pavlova in _The Dying Swan,_ V’chynkya the Adalbraxian mid-leap, Sammy Kaye tap-dancing with a red googly-eyed Muppet…Slim knew almost all of them. He stopped with a smile in front of one particular couple, a black man grinning ear-to-ear as an Andorian lifted him in one of the more complicated “aerials” of Lindy hop. From the date stamped on the corner, he guessed that this was probably just before Chazz Manning and Hjalmar th’Vhishria had retired from competition and gone on to found the Savoy Ballroom on a starbase designed for dating.

Gradually, his classmates—he assumed—trickled in. Slim wasn’t the greatest at judging ages, but he guessed fairly quickly that he was one of the very few freshmen in the room. Certainly he was one of the only males. The majority of the students were female, with perhaps four or five males total. One of them, clearly nearing graduation, sat down next to Slim with a sheepish smile.

“Getting married in the spring,” he explained. “Promised my fiancee I’d learn to dance properly before the wedding, so here I am. How’d you get suckered into this?”

“I didn’t, I wanted to take it,” Slim replied. “I love dancing.”

The other cadet winked. “I get it. You’re hoping to meet a pretty girl in this class, huh? We’re outnumbered, that’s for sure.”

“I’ve got a girlfriend back home.” The word slipped out before Slim really thought about it. He and Audra had never exactly put a label on their relationship, but they’d told each other they loved each other and they’d kissed a few times, so he figured it was valid. “We go dancin’ a lot. Promised her I’d keep up with it while I was here.”

“Women, right?” The other cadet rolled his eyes in an exaggerated manner.

Slim got up and changed seats.

At precisely 1500 hours, a man and a woman came into the room and shut the door. They were an older pair—the man with salt-and-pepper hair, the woman with a few crows’ feet around her eyes—but both exuded a youthful energy. Slim warmed to them immediately. The woman moved over to stand near a computer bank that likely hid the sound system, while the man crossed to stand in front of the room.

“I’m Henry Rawlins,” he began, “and this is my wife, Carrie. We don’t stand on rank in this studio, but outside these doors, she’s Commodore Orleans and I’m just plain Professor if anyone insists on giving me a title. Welcome to Ballroom Dance.”

He scanned the students. Some—most—of them wore their athletic uniforms, others hadn’t changed out of their reds. “It’s good to see some of you fellows in the room, but ladies, you’ll all have to learn the male parts of the dances as well as the female parts.” A few of the women grumbled about this, but Rawlins’ eyes suddenly lit up and he smiled. “And I see one of you has already purchased the correct equipment. Stand up, Cadet.”

He was pointing at Slim. Obediently, Slim got to his feet, fighting hard not to blush as every head in the room turned to him. Rawlins studied him. “You’re a first-year cadet, aren’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I do occasionally get repeat students, but I didn’t think I had any this semester. I see, however, that you are wearing proper dance shoes.” Rawlins pointed at Slim’s feet, and every head in the room shifted their gaze to them. “Can you tell the rest of the class where you acquired them?”

Slim swallowed. “Uh, I can, sir, but I don’t re—I don’t know how much help that will be. They were a sixteenth birthday present.” He was close to outgrowing them, actually, but they would do for now. “There’s a dancewear shop downtown, though, and I’m sure you can get them online.”

Rawlins’ expression brightened even further. “Ah, you have some foundation in ballroom?”

“Yes, sir,” Slim said again.

“Excellent! We’re going to get along well. What’s your name?”

“Kirk, sir. Thomas Kirk.”

“All right, Kirk, help me pass out these syllabuses and we’ll get started.”

Slim began handing the flimsi sheets to his fellow classmates, feeling a lot better than he had that morning.

 


	14. This Is S'pposed to Be Fun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um...Merry Christmas?
> 
> So, I'm back! Kinda. I've at least written this chapter, and gotten started on the next! I won NaNoWriMo and took a little break from writing after that, but I'm back into it now and hoping to keep the momentum going. I hope it was worth the wait. Kinda. Maybe.
> 
> Chapter title is taken from "5 4 3 2 Run" by SheDaisy.

_Cadet’s log, Stardate 2274.240. Addie once complained that her brain was full and asked me how long before she learned everything there was to know. After two weeks at Starfleet Academy, I suddenly understand her meaning._

_~*~*~*~_

They’d been right. After their first day, things got a lot harder.

Slim hadn’t had any trouble with Introductory Engineering so far, but he took meticulous notes in class anyway. Basic Defense wouldn’t have been too bad, except that Schlimme insisted on using Slim in all of his demonstrations and gushing about his father. It made Slim uncomfortable and the other cadets in his class eyeball him, like he was getting preferential treatment because of who his father was. He kind of wished he’d lied about being Jim Kirk’s son, but he wasn’t ashamed of his father and wouldn’t deny him—even if he wouldn’t volunteer the information willingly.

Federation History was easy enough in class—it was mostly lectures—but Tolliver expected them to produce a short paper before every single class, and it took up a lot of time. History of Flight at least only had one paper due a week, but the lecturer had a droning monotone that put several cadets to sleep. His Klingon 101 professor had berated him during the first class for not having a foundation in Klingon before starting the class, saying he would never graduate in three years if he didn’t push himself, and seemed deaf to Slim’s protests that he had no intentions of fast-tracking his way out of the Academy.

Van Rooyen continued with his overly harsh treatment of the cadet squadron. Slim had already learned a few of his hot buttons and when to push them—usually right before Van Rooyen started in on Braeden—and had also gotten into the habit of spending twenty minutes in the Kelvin Memorial Garden recharging his batteries before going on to class, usually with Braeden accompanying him. They didn’t talk, something Slim was grateful for. They merely sat together quietly, soaking in the silence and letting Van Rooyen’s ire fade back until they could get through the rest of the day.

Ballroom Dance helped. It gave him something to look forward to at the end of a rough day, and he was excited that they’d started off with swing dance. He’d already learned a couple spins that he hadn’t known before, and he’d been able to help a couple cadets who were struggling. The senior who was getting married, Justin Doane, turned out to be an all right guy and was quite grateful to Slim for the pointers, even if he sheepishly pointed out he probably wouldn’t be swing-dancing at his wedding.

There’d been a “bonding exercise” for each dorm building the first Friday of the semester, in the case of A110 an ice cream social. Braeden had stuck pretty close to Slim for most of the evening. Rob had introduced them to his roommate, Benjamin al-Abbas, Computer Science, who told them to call him Benji. Slim had also met Braeden’s roommate when he came over to say hello. Damian Swanson was perfectly polite and respectful, but he gave Slim the same vibes he’d gotten off of Ben Finney back on the _Enterprise,_ and considering how that had ended up, he worried all the more about his friend rooming with him.

Slim and his friends—including Rob—had compared schedules and coordinated things so they could eat together. Oftentimes it was the only time they saw M’err. His packed schedule meant a great deal of homework, and he rarely had time to socialize.

And now he was trying to convince them that he could pack even _more_ into his schedule.

“ _How,_ M’err?” Braeden asked. “You’ve got eight classes—”

“Nine,” Slim corrected him.

“ _Plus_ PT, and homework for all of it. When are you going to have time to join a club?”

“I have to,” M’err said stubbornly. “Club membership shows engagement in student life and is an important quality for a leader to have.”

“Did you pull that out of your ass, or is that something you heard from a club recruiter in one of your classes?” Sparky asked with his mouth full.

“Xuttaall told us that during orientation,” M’err replied. “It’s a requirement that all members of the Command track join a minimum of two clubs.”

“Over the course of your Academy career, or at the same time?” Slim asked.

“Same time.”

“Jeez.”

“Look,” M’err pleaded. “They’re going to have tryout information for the sports teams there, too. That counts, and I’d like to look into the parrises squares team anyway. At least come and look at the clubs with me. Who knows, there may be something to interest you too.”

Slim exchanged looks with his friends, but he already knew how this was going to end up.

Sure enough, as soon as they finished lunch, they all headed to the large gymnasium where the club fair was set up. Students were filtering in orderly queues in and out of the building, and when they entered, they discovered helpful arrows pointing them in the direction of the flow of traffic. There were also the ubiquitous student volunteers to greet them and wave them in the right direction.

This being Starfleet Academy, there were likely clubs from every culture and for interest in the same. There were clubs for just about every minor—Slim guessed those were for people who wanted extra time to practice, or who couldn’t fit another minor into their schedule but wanted to learn more about it—and hobbies ranging from air hockey to yoga. Slim wondered how they managed to fit all these booths into the room.

Luckily, things were easy to find; they were sorted by classifications and then arranged in alphabetical order. The sports teams were along the first quadrant. Slim really didn’t expect to find anything worth joining for himself, but he trailed along after his friends nevertheless. Sparky and Rob were looking around at everything. M’err and T’Mel were both focusing on the booths ahead, clearly already having the clubs they wanted to join in mind. Braeden stuck close to Slim’s side and didn’t say a word.

M’err was the first to stop by the side of a booth set up with several pieces of equipment Slim didn’t even begin to understand, a scale model of a playing field, and a holovid playing in the background showing what looked like a horribly difficult and violent game. Braeden flinched away from it, but M’err looked excited.

“When do you have tryouts for your team?” he asked one of the eager young men manning the booth.

“Tuesday, 1900 hours.” The cadet tapped at a PADD. “What’s your name, Cadet? I’ll send you our pre-screening form. You fill it out and send it back, and then show up on Tuesday if you get the approval code, which you should. We definitely could use you. Our team needs serious help.”

T’Mel had already wandered further down the aisle. Rob came hurrying over and tugged at Slim’s arm. “Sl—TJ, c’mere and see what I found.”

Sparky waited with M’err, while Braeden stuck with Slim and Rob as they walked down the line. Slim couldn’t help but laugh when he saw the booth Rob had found. “Competitive square-dancing?”

“It’s actually really difficult,” said the young woman sitting behind the booth, a little wearily. “There’s a lot of exercise that goes into it, and you have to remember how to do some pretty complicated steps.”

“How different is it from line dancing?” Slim asked. “I know a little bit of that.”

“Oh, it’s very different. For one thing, it’s in partners, and for another thing, there’s a caller who tells you what steps you’re going to be doing, usually. Some square dances—traditional ones—have set calls and set steps, but in competition, we pick a song out of a hat and they make calls more or less randomly.”

Slim grinned. “Well, I love to dance, so sign me up.”

The cadet brightened as Slim wrote down his name, on what he couldn’t help but notice was an otherwise empty PADD. She about cried when Rob and Braeden put their names down, too. “Thank you! I’ll—we’ll send out an email as soon as we start practices.”

“I’m thinkin’ that’s a new club,” Slim said quietly as they stepped away. “Don’t reckon they have much participation yet, anyway.”

Braeden smiled and shrugged gamely. “Should be fun, anyway.”

They found T’Mel signing up for the competitive Tri-Chess league. Sparky declined to sign up for any of the sports teams, firmly stating that he was _not_ competitive and did _not_ do well in organized sports. The interest and hobby clubs were next, though, and he seemed more excited about that.

Braeden brightened up at learning there was an Art Club; he signed up on the spot. Rob convinced both Slim and—surprisingly—Sparky to sign up for the horseback riding club, not that Slim took much convincing, but Braeden shied away and M’err flat-out refused. T’Mel informed them that she had no intention of adding anything more to her schedule until at least the next semester.

Around the third wall, Slim spotted Margolis at one end of a row, talking to someone at one of the booths. He signed his name—or something—to a PADD and then disappeared before Slim could call out to him. He kept his mouth shut until they got a little closer, deflecting M’err’s suggestion of joining the Student Council and encouraging Braeden to at least put himself as interested in the campus newspaper, then drifted over to the booth he’d seen Margolis at.

It was a cozy, undersized booth, maybe half the size of any other table, and tucked on a corner. Most people passed it without seeming to see it, and that despite the fact that it was spread with all sorts of brightly-colored projects. Slim counted two scarves, three squares of varying sizes, seven _things_ of indeterminate nature, and a single quilt block. Two chairs were crammed behind the booth, somehow. One was occupied by a human—or humanoid—woman busily working with a pair of circular knitting needles on something tubular and rainbow-colored; the other seated a Vulcan female concentrating very hard on what looked like a small, portable loom.

Slim waited until the knitter reached one of her stitch markers before saying politely, “Excuse me, what club is this?”

The knitter looked up with a bright smile. “Oh, hello! Officially we’re the Textiles Club—a group of yarn, cloth, and needle-crafters who get together once a week to work on projects, discuss techniques, and…relax from a long, stressful week. We don’t really offer formal lessons, but if you’d like to learn a new type of craft, there are people willing to teach. Do you work with textiles?”

“I crochet. A little,” Slim amended, thinking of the single granny square pattern he’d memorized to help make Addie’s birthday present. “My dad taught me.”

“Oh, fun! We don’t have any crocheters right now, I don’t think. Would you like to join us? We usually meet up on Saturdays in the early afternoon, ish, but it varies, so if you put your name down here we’ll add you to the mass message group.” The knitter pushed a PADD over to him and then went back to her knitting project.

Slim scribbled down his information. If Margolis would be there, he thought, it might be an excuse for them to bond at least a little bit. They still seldom spoke to one another, and Slim had a feeling they’d be good friends if they ever tried. He was still a little leery of putting himself forward, though.

Maybe having a hobby in common would help.

 


End file.
